


When It's Time

by anastasiapullingteeth



Series: Sweet Children [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Blow Jobs, Child Neglect, Cliffhangers, Depression, Derogatory Language, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Violence, References to Drugs, Self-Destruction, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiapullingteeth/pseuds/anastasiapullingteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone from Enjolras’ past comes back and Grantaire doesn't know how to handle it, especially after the life of some of their friends takes an interesting turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Last part of this verse! Let’s see how this turns out. 
> 
> Also, there are things I didn't add to the tags because they were spoilers... somehow, but none of them are triggers, I promise.

**Oakland, California - 2014**

 

"Ohhhh, wait a second." Grantaire said, stopping in front of a big mural on one of the brick walls, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket.

He and Enjolras were on their way to **Red &Black Records** for a meeting with Valjean, who apparently had the art of their seventh studio album, which would be released in September of that year, and wanted Enjolras and the others to approve on. Technically, Grantaire had nothing to do there; it was _Carpe Diem’_ s business, but they had been in the middle of… something when Valjean called and Enjolras thought best he came, too. “It won’t take long,” Enjolras assured, “we’ll be back at home in no time.” Grantaire accepted only for the chance of being in one of those super-secret meetings and see the new cover before anyone else.

"What’re you doing?" Enjolras asked. He’d followed him to the mural, watching how his boyfriend took a picture of one of one particular spot on the wall.

"Jehan loves hummingbirds." Grantaire answered, typing on his phone. "So, whenever I see one - on a wall, a painting, a real one - I take a picture and send it to him. It’s just something we’ve been doing for years."

Enjolras smiled and took Grantaire’s hand to retake their path. “You miss him, don’t you?”

"I talk to him all the time." Grantaire said with a shrug.

"I know, but it’s not the same, is it? You know you can go to see him anytime you want."

"I know, but it’s okay. He must be bored of me by now. He’s spending a lot of time at Courf’s place, so…" he trailed off and Enjolras understood what he meant, though he avoided to mention it wasn’t exactly what Grantaire imagined.

When they arrived at the label, they met with Bossuet in the lobby. It was odd to see him without Joly or Musichetta, but after the events of the past year, they were still adjusting to the changes. Grantaire left go of Enjolras' hand to greet his mate.

"Hey, buddy! How are you? How’s Musichetta?"

"She’s fine. A little nostalgic these days, but fine."

After some bad complications, Musichetta had lost the baby in the first trimester. She, Bossuet, and Joly were devastated, to the point where they had to take a time away from each other to assimilate the whole thing. They were still living in Minneapolis, and had been Éponine the one who took care of Musichetta during those days. Joly was the most affected, but he didn’t showed it that much; he barely talk with anyone about it and his friends were worried he'd explode in some negative way. Bossuet said he blamed himself for the miscarriage.

The news didn't make it to the magazines or newspapers, but the fans found out thanks to a message Bossuet wrote in Sassafras Roots' official Facebook page. They sent their love in messages and videos and Musichetta never felt more at home. They got back together before they moved to California and, even when she'd managed to move on, there were times when it was too much for her. Enjolras, like the rest of his friends, tried to help as much as he could, even when they felt it wasn't that much.

"After Marius and Cosette came back from their honeymoon, 'Chetta cheered up a bit," Bossuet continued. "But she thinks is matter of time Cosette gets pregnant and, well, she's a little sad about it."

Grantaire gave Bossuet a single-arm hug, patting his back fondly. "You're gonna have that baby soon, man, don't worry."

"We hope so. Anyway, I gotta go now. I just came to see Valjean very quickly. I think he's waiting for you, Enj?"

"He is, thank you."

"They'll be fine." Grantaire said once their friend headed home and they got inside the lift to Valjean's office.

"I think so."

"I mean, after they even got the nerve to be parents…"

"What'd you mean? You don't think they'd be good parents?"

"Well, I'm sure they'll try but I think being a bad parent is just something you can't avoid, y'know. And it's worse the older everyone gets." Enjolras frowned and Grantaire took that as a request for him to explain. "My parents didn't do a good job, Jehan's parents didn't do a good job. It's just something that has to happen; you're going to be a bad parent despite all your efforts. You'll yell at them after a bad day of work, or neglect them when you're not in the mood for paying attention to them, you're gonna make them feel shit for coming to you with their problems. And it's not even a matter of love, love has nothing to do with it, you'll screw up either way. So, what can you do to avoid ruining somebody else's life? Don't have kids; there are worse things than not to be born."

"I'm not sure it's really like that." Enjolras parents hadn't been that good, either. Well, his father was before he died, but his mother… But still, they couldn't base their conclusion solely on their own experiences; there were good parents out there, even when they weren't lucky. "So you don't want to have kids of your own?"

"So I can ruin their lives? No, thanks. Joly, Bossuet and 'Chetta would do it just fine, but I'm hopeless... Would you like to have kids?"

"No- I don't know. I've never thought about it, to be honest."

"Then why are you even fighting me here, dude? You're ridiculous."

The lift stopping at Valjean's office was what prevented them to get into an argument neither of them had the energy for.

 

***

 

California probably wasn't the best place to walk in public when one is a well-known musician, even though Grantaire would argue New York was a lot worse, as they'd proved during their last visit. But right now, Enjolras was barely ten foot away from his apartment, surrounded by a large group of teenagers, signing autographs and taking pictures with them; after fifteen years of this, he wasn't used to it in the slightest. But he loved his fans, they were family, and even when he'd already forgotten why he'd set a foot on the street, he'll sign every piece of paper that were handed to him.

After half an hour and a semi-automatic smile on his face, he finally found his way out of the group of fans and kept walking down the street, in search of something that sparkle the memory of why he'd left the comfort of his apartment in the first place. He entered a record store, pulling his cellphone out of his jeans' pocket to call Grantaire, who had stayed at home with a bad cold.

"How you feeling?" Enjolras asked, picking up a vinyl from one of the boxes.

 _I'm surpdised I'm not aldeady dead_ , came Grantaire's muffled voice from the other end.

"It’s your own fault for being so reckless."

Grantaire had gotten sick when he left the bar he was playing at in the middle of the cold and without a proper coat after a surprise concert for Courfeyrac's birthday. They'd all gone to see _TBGML_ , the side-project Grantaire and Jehan had put together with Courf and Marius, after the undeniable success they had during their unexpected presentation at the Sweet Children tour. Courfeyrac said it was a comeback to Enjolras' angry yelling of "Marius, we won't make an entire album dedicated to your love for Cosette". The band played more pop-y songs and had already recorded an album under **Red &Black Records** firm. They played with their faces covered by eye masks and denied to be them everytime the fans confronted them about it. They were pretty popular, considering their music was at the other end on the scale of what _Carpe Diem_ wrote.

_Whateved. Whede ade you, by the way? You wede buying honey, I didn't thought it'd take you this long?_

Bingo. "I got lingered with some fans, I'll be back in a minute."

_I'll lose my voice and then my job, Enjoldas. I'm tdusting you with my life hede._

"Of course you are. See you in a bit, Gdantaide."

_Don't mock me, you insensitive asshole._

"See ya."

He smiled and put the vinyl back in the box, heading for the door as he waved goodbye to the man behind the counter. It was really crowded outside and a few people bumped into him when he attempted to join the fluid of traffic. He moved slowly, using his shoulders to make his way on the street to the closets store.

Enjolras crossed at a traffic light, wondering how on earth could be this amount of people outside. He was apologizing for the third time when a man walking hastily next to him made him spun over his feet. He was a bit taller than him, attired in an elegant dark blue suit and hair neatly brushed back; he seemed weirdly familiar, but it couldn't be _him_ …

Enjolras turned completely and tried to follow him, dodging the crowds approaching. By the time he finally managed to free himself from the mass of people, the man was already gone and the only thing he could see of him from afar was the back of his head.

It couldn’t be…

 

***

 

Enjolras couldn't quite concentrate the following days. Between Grantaire's cold that had escalated into a serious flu, and the persistent thought that he knew the guy from the other day, he could barely wrap his mind around anything else. Jehan, who’d noticed how lost he felt, had offered to take care of Grantaire for him, but Enjolras wouldn't take it. He was a lot better now, sleeping deeply in their bed after the fever had subsided, so he changed the wet cloth he'd put on Grantaire's forehead and, after making sure he was comfortable and warm, sat down on a chair next to the bed and opened up his laptop.

That man looked just like him, or how Enjolras supposed he'd look like, he really didn't remember his face very well but he was sure it was him somehow. He might as well find out what he was up to, see if he was in town and, well, know of he was doing okay. He typed a name on the Internet browser just to discover he was facing another problem: he didn't remember his last name.

He grunted, stood up and walked to the closet. He glanced quickly at Grantaire still fast asleep in the bed, and pulled out a box from the top shelf. He held it under one arm, took his laptop with him, and went to the dining room, where he could work without bothering his boyfriend.

 

***

 

Grantaire shifted on the mattress and stretched his arm, groping on the bed with his eyes closed, looking for Enjolras. The spot next to him was empty and colder than it should be if he'd recently rose up. He frowned when he couldn't actually remember if Enjolras had come to bed in the first place since he was still a little weak from his fever and had fallen asleep immediately, so he got up and walked outside the bedroom.

The apartment was completely dark, apart from a dim light coming from the dining room. Grantaire yawn tired and padded carefully up to there, keeping his toes safe away from the furniture. Enjolras was sitting at the table with his laptop open in front of him. A pile of papers balanced dangerously on a presumably half-empty mug while the blond read what was displayed on the screen at the time he bit the cap of his black pen.

Grantaire took a look at the clock on the wall and frowned again, leaning against the frame of the door and crossing his arms over his chest. "It's three in the morning, what are you doing?" he whispered, wincing at seeing Enjolras jumping where he sat.

The blond looked over his shoulder, blood-shot eyes staring at him with something more than surprise. But he recovered quickly and returned Grantaire’s smile. "Go back to sleep, I'll be there in a minute."

Grantaire approached him, resting a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder and rubbing small circles on the tired muscles. He eyed the mess on the table, cocking an eyebrow, slightly worried. "What's all this?"

"Uh, nothing. A little… research, that's all."

The dark-haired man took a sheet of paper from the table, reading what it was written on it. He couldn't make everything out, since most of it was crossed out or scribbled messily on the paper. There was a name though, one that Enjolras had written a few times with different surnames, all of them apparently discarded. It didn't ring a bell on Grantaire, so he dared to ask.

"Armando? Who's that?"

Enjolras didn't detach his eyes from the laptop. He was typing something now, not troubled by Grantaire’s presence in the slightest. He tapped two fingers on his lips, murmuring something that sounded a lot like "seems that he disappeared without a trace", and right when Grantaire was wondering if he hadn't heard him and he should ask again, Enjolras finally answered.

"He was, uh… our former drummer. Before Courfeyrac joined us. He went away and then I- we, we took a different path."

"Oh, okay… But why are you looking for him? Is there a problem with Courf?"

That finally caught Enjolras attention, making him look at Grantaire with alarm. "What? No, no," he hurried to rectify. "Of course not, I don't want him back in the band. Is just curiosity, I guess."

"Hmmm."

"Go back to bed, seriously. This won't take much."

Grantaire placed a quick kiss on Enjolras lips, brushing his golden hair fondly. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

"Sure. I'll be there in a sec."

Grantaire went back to bed, still unsure of Enjolras' behavior. He had the feeling there was something he wasn't telling him and he'd probably have to ask someone else; the problem was, would they tell him? He tried to wait for Enjolras but was exhausted and, after he lay back on the mattress, it didn't take long before he was fast asleep again. It was a good thing, otherwise he'd know Enjolras never went to bed that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Grantaire, Armando wasn't only in our band. He was… He and Enjolras were together."
> 
> _Oh..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the main reason why this fic is rated mature so, uh, yeah.
> 
>  _ **cw:**_ anxiety disorder, implied child labor.

Almost a week later, Grantaire arrived at Combeferre's apartment around noon. He really didn’t want to ask him about Enjolras’ research, but if the guy was their old drummer, neither Courf nor Marius or Feuilly had met him, which basically meant Combeferre was his only option. He hesitated before knocking the door; he felt stupid and Combeferre would probably agree with him on that, but he needed to know and Enjolras wouldn’t say anything else besides what he’d already done. So he breathed in deeply and called to the door.

After a couple of minutes, the door was pulled open. Éponine was at the other side, dressed in comfy shorts and a hoodie that was too big for her, long, messy hair braided over her shoulder. Grantaire stared at her for several seconds; he wasn't expecting her to be there, even when he shouldn't be surprised.

"Ehhh hi."

"Hi." She was blushing and the situation turned awkward very quickly after Combeferre appeared behind Éponine, smiling shyly. It was like walking in on your parents going at it.

Combeferre cleared his throat. "Hello, Grantaire. Come on in."

Grantaire walked clumsily inside the apartment, avoiding at all cost meeting Éponine's eyes. Combeferre guided him to the couch and beckoned him to take a sit. He could see the kitchen from his place; there were two bowls of cereal on the kitchen bar, next to a couple of mugs of coffee. He'd interrupted their breakfast, at it seemed, though he didn't stop to think why they were having breakfast at twelve in the afternoon, he was no one to judge anyway. However, that didn't stop him from feeling guilty.

"Is this a bad moment? I can come back later, if you… want."

"Not at all," the man smiled at him. "Make yourself at home, I'll leave you two alone so you can talk."

"Wait! I… I wanted to talk to you actually. If you're not busy?"

"Oh, okay. How can I help you?"

"Well, it's me the one that shouldn't be here then." Éponine patted Grantaire's back and headed for the kitchen.

"Can you stay? That'd be nice…"

"Okay." The girl sat on the arm rest, while Combeferre remained standing, tucking his hands on his sweats' pockets.

"So, what can I do for you, Grantaire?"

"Do you know anything about Enjolras new project? Research project?" Grantaire asked, accepting the glass of water Éponine was handing him.

"No, I don't. What is it about?"

"He's looking for your old drummer? Armando… something?"

"Oh... did he tell you why?"

"Not really. He says he's curious, but he's been acting weird. Doesn't sleep and is, honestly, obsessed. I just want to know what's so special about the guy."

"Did Enjolras tell you anything about him? Other than he was our drummer?"

"No, why? You're acting all weird, should I be worried?"

Combeferre sighed and sat in front of him on the coffee table. That could only mean bad news, couldn't it? "I don't think is important, and this could be completely unrelated, but-"

"Cut off the drama, would you? But...?" Grantaire prompted him.

"Grantaire, Armando wasn't only in our band. He was… He and Enjolras were together."

_Oh..._

Grantaire stared open-mouthed at Combeferre. Together. They had been together. But that didn't mean anything, did it? He felt a small hand on his shoulder and saw out of the corner of his eyes that Éponine was standing now beside him, her eyes focused on the man across from him, frowning. Okay,  _maybe_  it meant something. "D'you mean as in dating?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes. Before he went to Yale." That was all Combeferre said, glancing quickly at Éponine, who just squeezed briefly Grantaire shoulder.

"Oh, okay…" He knew the guy. Sort of. He thought he'd read about him in a magazine once, years ago. But it didn't say anywhere they were dating. He mentioned this to Combeferre, trying to make it sound as casual and nonchalant as he could mastered.

Combeferre sat straighter on the table, tangling his fingers over his lap. "It wasn't exactly a long relationship. They were together for about five months."

Grantaire nodded, avoiding the other man's eyes. He didn't miss the way he looked at Éponine, though. Probably they were expecting another reaction from him, a more violent-angsty reaction, and weren't prepared for this composure. Grantaire himself didn't understand why he wasn't yelling or demanding answers - not that Combeferre could really provide all of them. He didn't feel anything, to be completely honest. A part of him always thought this wouldn't last, anyway. He hadn't thought it'd die so quickly, either, but it wasn't exactly a surprise. And now Enjolras had the perfect excuse to break up with him.

Éponine cleared her throat and leaned closer to him so her face was now in Grantaire's field of vision. "But, that doesn't matter, I'm sure. Because… you're practically married now. I mean, you're living with Enjolras, right?"

Grantaire woke up from the reverie he'd gone to and looked at her. "Uhm, no. I don't live with him."

"You're kidding."

"No. He's never asked me to."

"But you're at his apartment all the time!" she shouted, widening her eyes in a way it'd been comical in any other circumstance.

"I know but… it's a visit… a very long visit, but a visit nevertheless. All my stuff are still at Jehan's place- our place."

Éponine glanced at Combeferre, who shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Had Grantaire said something wrong? ... Probably he was imposing Enjolras his presence, that could be... Maybe he'd talked to Combeferre about it and he knew Enjolras didn't want him there but didn't know how to tell him either. He'd done wrong in assuming he was welcome, Enjolras must've been sick of him.

He was panicking and something of it should be showing in his face since Combeferre leaned closer and took his hand, startling him. "It's not what you're thinking," he assured.

"Then why I have this feeling I did something wrong?"

"You didn't. Enjolras has that bad habit of assuming everybody knows what he's thinking and that he doesn't need to explain himself. I'm sure he's happy you're there, just… has failed in letting you know."

Grantaire ducked his head. Of all things, he felt ashamed. He didn't even know why exactly, but he couldn't look at Combeferre's eyes, let alone Enjolras', once he went back to his apartment. If he even went back… What if he was standing in the middle of a novel-like relationship? One that had survived over the years and distance and was meant to culminate with a happy ending, where Armando and Enjolras were finally together, with Grantaire out of the picture?

A small voice at the back of his head was telling him he was over-reacting, that all that drama wasn't necessary, and that he should spend less time with both Jehan and Courfeyrac, but he decided to ignore it. What else was he supposed to think when the evidence was right there? Enjolras was looking for this man, this mysterious man he didn't know anything about but that, obviously, meant enough to Enjolras to the point where he was now looking desperately for him. This was worth the drama.

"Like I said, I don't think is important." Combeferre said, patting his hand gently. "Armando was more like a role model than-"

"Combeferre, no offense, but I'm  _literally fucking_  my role model. And it's kinda important to me", Grantaire growled, because seriously, that wasn't even an excuse.

"Of course, I’m sorry", Combeferre corrected himself, and Grantaire felt slightly guilty for being so harsh. "What I’m trying to say is what Enjolras felt for Armando was more of a childish crush. He said he was curious, it'll wear away quickly."

When Grantaire didn't say anything else, Éponine knelt between his legs and framed his face between her hands. He saw Combeferre standing up, receding himself to the sofa where he sat down; he seemed to understand it was a private moment between his girlfriend and Grantaire, and that he had nothing to do there.

Éponine whispered soothing words for his ears only, as she held his hand firmly. After a minute or two, Grantaire looked back at Combeferre. "What do I do?" he asked, feeling completely lost.

"Go home. Try to calm down. And don’t worry so much about it. Enjolras is hard to understand sometimes but I’m sure he’ll get over this soon. There's no point in troubling your mind with it."

"He's the one that knows him better," Éponine said, shrugging and caressing Grantaire's cheek. "He must be right about something."

 

***

 

Courfeyrac pushed hard inside Jehan, marking the skin of his neck with love bites. The redhead moaned loudly and reached behind him to pull at the soft, wavy hair between his fingers. He'd been visiting Courf constantly since they moved to California, though he couldn’t remember how exactly he'd ended with the drummer between his legs. It didn't matter. What mattered was the constant ramming of Courf's manhood against his sweet spot, the deep lines his nails left on his skin, the long, wet strip he licked on his back and shoulder. But when Courfeyrac thrust in harder, Jehan's mouth proved to be a lot faster than his brain.

"'Aire!" he gasped, and everything stopped around him.

Courfeyrac supported his weight on his hands, still inside him but motionless, and Jehan covered his face in shame at sensing his frown. "What?", the drummer asked, to Jehan's dismay.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I didn't want- didn't mean it! Oh my god, this is horrible!" he said, trying to push Courfeyrac away from him. He let him, but took his wrist when he made a move to jump down the bed.

"Wait, wait, wait", he said. "What was that?"

"I’m so, so, so incredibly sorry, Courf. I'll go now, I understand if you don't want to see me anymore, and- oh my god, I can't believe that actually happened!" Jehan covered his eyes with a hand while the other attempted to grab his jeans from the floor.

"Wait there," Courf laughed fondly. "I'm not mad, I'm not even offended. I just want to understand what happened here."

"I’m sorry…"

Courf pulled him closer until he was sitting on his lap; the atmosphere from before was completely forgotten and Jehan's blush could match his hair. Courfeyrac rubbed his back affectionately and asked, "That's what you need? That's why you come here?"

There was no sign of reproach in his voice, but Jehan ducked his head anyway, mumbling a soft "Sorry…"

"Talk to me Jehan. You know I'm your friend. I'm always here for you." But Jehan didn't say a word. "… You're still in love with Grantaire, aren't you?" the drummer ventured.

"I'm not- I don't think so. I mean, a part of me will always be… in love with him, in away. But I think I've gotten over it after all these years… I can live with it now." He looked up at Courfeyrac, but the crooked smile he received made him blush even harder. "I'm telling the truth! I swear I can. I'm so happy to see him happy. But… I don't know, I just miss him so much."

"He's with Enjolras all the time now, eh?" Jehan snorted, but his face softened at remembering how cute these two were together. Courfeyrac kissed his cheek and nuzzled at his neck. "Look, I know I can't love you like you… need. That I don't do the whole dating thing? But I'll be here for you every time you need me, okay? Either you wanna talk or not talk at all, you can always come here."

"Thank you, Courf. I promise that won't happen again."

"Oh, I don't mind! If that's what you need, I can roll with it! What is life without a little roleplay, am I right?"

"Oh my god, Courf, no!"

"Courf yes!"

"No! Listen to me." Jehan grabbed his face to force him to look at him and Coufeyrac bit his lip. "I don't... I don't want this to seem like I'm... using you. Because I'm not. I come here because of you and... yeah, sometimes 'Aire crosses my mind but it's not why I'm here, with you."

Courf nodded, placing his own hands on top of Jehan's still on his face. "I get it. I might not understand fully the way you feel, but I get it. You grew up with him, he's important, that I do understand."

"Okay. So no roleplaying, please."

"... Are you sure? Because I'm a wonderful actor, let me tell you that. How 'bout this?"

He pulled a pouty face that, to be honest, resembled a lot at Grantaire's whenever he tried to convince Jehan to give him the last slice of pizza. Jehan laughed so hard his stomach hurt, but Courfeyrac didn't have mercy and sang one of Sassafras Roots' most popular songs, completely out of key - even when that wasn’t exactly how he'd planned it to go.

Jehan kissed him to make him stop, and Courfeyrac got the hint to continue what they'd left pending. He bit Jehan's lower lip as he guided him to rest on his back, spreading his legs open while his mouth moved against his own. He withdrew from him to grab the lube and apply a little more to himself. Going back at kissing Jehan, he pushed forward inside of him, settling on a slow pace, hitching one of Jehan's legs over his shoulder.

Jehan thrown his head backwards, moaning breathlessly. They'd never done it like this, never at this slow rhythm; it was usually rushed, dizzying, their moans and gasps barely audible above the sound of flesh moving against flesh, or the banging of the headboard on the wall. This was... nice. Courfeyrac took hold of Jehan's wrist and rested them on the mattress above his head, preventing him from touching himself as the pace of his hips became torturing slow. He was smirking against his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin every time Jehan tried to free his hands.

Courf cared. He wouldn't love him, but he cared and that warmed his heart.

"Prom- ah- promise me some- something," Jehan said, opening his eyes.

"What?"

"That you’ll always be yourself."

That probably didn't make a lot of sense, but Courf nodded with a smile as he began to speed up his thrust, practically rutting into him, kissing his mouth hungrily to muffle Jehan's scream as he came over himself, untouched.

"I promise." Courf whispered in his ear.

 

***

 

Once Grantaire calmed down enough to go back home, Éponine walked him to the lift and down to the main door. Enjolras' apartment was just two blocks away from Combeferre's, and Éponine had offered taking him up there but he'd refused. "Are you sure?" she asked again, standing on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"You really think is better to go back there?"

"I won't go until he asks me to." Grantaire said with a shrug. "I'll stay there as long as he wants me to."

Éponine kissed his cheek and saw him walking down the street until he was out of sight. She remained in front of the door a little longer, watching the people passing by, somehow expecting the man to come back. When that didn't happen, she turned around and walked inside the building. She was heading for the lift when someone bumped into her, hitting her leg with the lower part of something metallic. She bent over to rub at the sore spot, turning her head to look at the aggressor.

A thin boy of about ten years old, Éponine guessed, was lifting a box from where had landed after the collision. His golden hair covered his eyes and cheekbones, and fell down over his shoulders in messy curls. He reminded her a little bit at someone, and that was what had pulled her off her anger, leaving her staring speechless. When the boy sensed Éponine’s gaze, he put the box back in the hand truck it had fallen off of, saluted her with a wave of his hand, and pushed the thing past her.

"Sorry about that, ma’am," he said and disappeared out of the door.

Éponine’s complaint died in her throat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night, before going to bed, someone knocked on Jehan's door. On the hallway, he saw a white envelope that had been slipped under the door. He took it and found inside a piece of paper folded at the half, with short message written on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having some trouble with a small part of this chapter but I think I managed to fix it. Sorry for the delay, though.
> 
>  _ **cw:**_ implied child labor.

A day later, Éponine was back in the lift early in the morning. She hadn't been able to pull the face of the kid out of her mind and Combeferre didn't know a thing about him. She'd asked him as soon as she set foot back in his apartment, ignoring the angry bruise on her leg or the fact that she was limping a little. Her boyfriend had dismissed the question at first, focusing all his attention on her wound while she talked without stop, but once he had her sitting on a chair with ointment on the purple mark, he told her he'd never seen the kid before.

She was on her way to her office when she saw him again coming out of a store close to the market, pushing the hand truck stacked with three big boxes. She quickened her steps to catch up with him, maintaining a decent distance between them. It wasn't her intention to scare him, or to seem like a creepy stalker, but she needed to know who he was. The kid looked over his shoulder and lifted his eyebrows to the line of his hair. His bangs fell over his blue eyes, but Éponine caught fear in them.

"Wait, I'm not going to hurt you. I need to talk to you," she said, coming as close to him as she could without scaring him away.

The boy worried at his lip, hesitantly, and then turned around completely to face her. His eyes settled on her bruised leg, covered now by the dress pants. "Sorry, miss," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to hurt you, but-"

"Do you work here?" she interrupted, pointing at the market with a movement of her head.

"Please, don’t tell Tholomyès what I did! That bastard's gonna kick me out!"

"Language," Éponine scolded him, cocking her head. The kid frowned, but didn't talked back. "And I’m not going to tell anyone, don’t worry." She looked at the hand truck, the boxes balancing over each other, and then back at the boy. It looked heavy and, judging by the way the kid bent his legs to push it down the street, it must be. "Do you need help with that?"

"No."

"Come on, I just want to help you. That looks heavy."

"I can handle it just fine by myself, I do it every day," the kid shrugged.

"Then do it for me. Let me help you just this time."

 

The kid looked her up and down. He saw her coat, her dress pants, and her black heels. He saw the purse that hung from her folded arm and her hair tied up in a bun on the nape of her head. He frowned. "You'll ruin ya duds," he said.

If it had been any other day, she'd been wearing more proper clothes. But on that day, she had a meeting with the management team of an important label, and had dressed accordingly. She pursed her lips and shrugged. "It's just clothes."

"If you say so…" The kid took the biggest box off of the pile on the hand truck and held it tightly against his chest, lifting one of his legs to accommodate it better. "Push that… miss," he faked a bow and, as much as Éponine wanted to say something about it, she knew it was better to shut up, at least for now.

She took the hand truck, securing her purse on her arm and smiling to herself. "Lead the way, _mon capitaine_." The kid rolled his eyes but started walking. She followed him closely, glancing at him from time to time. The silence stretched for a few minutes, and when she couldn't hold it anymore, she asked: "So, how old are you?"

"Twelve."

"Oh, really?" Okay, she'd guessed wrong. But he was so… small for a twelve-year-old boy. Probably he didn't have enough to eat…

He guided her to a store a block away, but made her stop a few miles from it, probably to prevent someone to see them. "Here's fine. Thanks."

"Sure, no problem." That was her cue to go but her guts said there was something else she could do. She ought to do. "I know this might sound weird but… would you like to…" To what? Every sentence crossing her mind was worse than the other. She wanted to help him, to make sure he had a proper meal and a place to sleep; he desperately needed it as it seemed. But this was a minor she was talking about and, even when he evidently had no one who cared about him, it wasn't right to simply take him home like he was an abandoned pet. So she opted for the one thing that sounded better to her. "Would you like to work for me?"

The kid had leaned arms crossed on the wall, eyeing her. His frown deepened after her question. "Doin' what?"

"You know, moving stuff? Maybe some cleaning. Do you know how to do that?"

"Yah."

"Great! You're hired. If you accept."

The kid evaluated her again, narrowing his eyes. He was probably considering if this was some threat, if she was dangerous. He must had decided she wasn't, because he shrugged nonchalantly. "'kay, I guess."

"Good, good." Éponine said, smiling openly. "I gotta go now but I'll see you here at… Let's say, three on the afternoon?" The kid nodded. "Great. Oh, by the way, what's your name?"

"Gavroche."

 

***

 

"Please?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

Bahorel grunted and flopped down on the bed, making the sheet that was previously covering his lower half tangle around his ankles, leaving him completely exposed and very much naked before Feuilly's eyes. The other man looked away instinctively, trying to ignore the flush that spread on his cheeks. Bahorel always mocked him for how easily he blushed even after they’d been in similar situations plenty of times before, but he couldn’t stop himself. He took the closest thing at reach - a magazine - and pretended to be reading it while the drummer did nothing to put on clothes or even try to set the sheet back on place.

"You're such a party-pooper, did you know that?" he heard him complain.

"You've been telling me that every day since Courf's birthday, so yes, I sorta got the message."

"But is your birthday, dude!" Bahorel said. Feuilly heard movement coming from the bed so he held the magazine up in front of him; Bahorel just kept with his whining. "You'll turned… whatever you're turnin' just once in your life!"

"I can't believe you don't even know how old I am…"

"That's so not the point here. We're talking about a big, fat party to celebrate you!"

"You just won't give up on this, will you?"

"No until you say yes."

Feuilly dared to look back at Bahorel. He was now sitting on the center of the bed with his legs folded under him; the bed sheets swirled around him, blocking everything that needed to be blocked from sight, so they could actually have this conversation face to face instead of behind the pages of a car magazine. Truth be told, it wouldn't be the first time they celebrated his birthday with all of them present, but it was until then that they were finally able to say they’d settled down, without moving or label openings on their way, and the release of their respective albums were planned by the end of the year. Feuilly sighed, knowing he'd already lost; for some reason, this meant a lot to Bahorel.

"Okay, fine. You win."

"We're doing a party then?"

"That's what it looks like."

Bahorel jumped down the bed smiling broadly and ran to the armchair were Feuilly had been sitting all that time. Said man stopped him though, placing a hand flat on his chest to prevent him to get any closer. "But," he said.

"Oh, god dammit. What?"

"But… You have to promise it’d be only us."

Bahorel frowned. "As in you and me?"

"No. As in just our friends. No fans involved, no any other bands unless is strictly necessary; just us, okay?"

They'd given a secret concert on charge of Grantaire and the other's side project for Courfeyrac's birthday, and even when it'd been fun and the event had gotten a lot more response from the fans than expected, it wasn’t something Feuilly particularly desired for his own birthday party. He waited for Bahorel's response, resting his joined hands over his lap; the drummer was seeing him with narrowed eyes, apparently deep in thought.

"… Feuilly, you've become a boring, old man," he said, seriously. Feuilly stared at him with a blank expression and Bahorel snorted. "Okay, then. As you wish. No one else unless Valjean and/or Éponine says otherwise, is that fine with you?"

"I think I can live with that."

"Good! And don't worry about anything. Leave it all in my hands, I'll take care of it."

"That's what worries me exactly…", he mumbled, watching astonished as Bahorel paced around the apartment completely unashamed of his exposed ass, listing all the plans he had for the party in a few weeks forward.

It promised to be a very long, tiring day.

 

***

 

The way back to Jehan's apartment after a late visit to Courfeyrac always felt like a walk of shame for the young man. It was like having a big, horrible secret that everyone he crossed paths with in those few blocks could read just by looking at his face. But that day in particular, he felt free. He'd told Courfeyrac what was going on inside his head and he only didn't mind the mistake he’d made, on the contrary, he'd understood and even offered him support.

He hadn't told Grantaire he slept with Courfeyrac. He had the feeling his friend knew anyway, but a part of him was a little bit worried at discovering that what made him feel uneasy had been that he sometimes thought about Grantaire when he was with another person, and not the fact that he was having sex behind his back. He didn't have to explain anything, really, but couldn't shake out the feeling that he was somehow betraying him.

The entire situation was fucked up, really, but at least it wasn't that bad as before. When Grantaire and Enjolras started to date, he felt left out. He wasn't used to be alone, he'd never been since he was seventeen, so it was a big change for him. He couldn't sleep well and, as soon as they moved out to California, he'd made it a habit to visit Courf as much as he could. Things got better after a while and he got used to his current situation, but sometimes he still missed those days when there were only the two of them. Grantaire had become his blood, his soul, and he felt so lost out in the cold; it was just too hard missing him.

He was soon distracted when the ringtone of his cellphone went off. It was a message from Grantaire with a photo attached to it. He opened the file, stopping in a traffic light. It was Grantaire with a fan that had a hummingbird tattooed on her thigh. The girl looked like she was about to faint for having Grantaire so close to her, but Jehan didn't pay that much attention to that. Instead, he focused on his friend; the dark-haired man was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes and the bags under them said a completely different story from the one Grantaire was surely trying to tell.

Jehan decided then to call him as he waved a hand toward a group of boys walking on the other side of the street that were currently taking pictures of him. The voice mail message went off after the fourth ring tone, and he shook his head.

_Hey, this is Grantaire... I'm not gonna say anything inspirational, I'm just gonna fucking swear a lot. Leave a message at your own risk._

He laughed softly; it'd been a while since he heard that message. It was new that Grantaire didn't answer his phone call. "'Aire, it's me, Jehan. Call me when you can, okay? I'm worried about you… Anyway, see you soon I hope. Bye."

He kept walking, ignoring that his laughter had caught somebody's attention, a weird man wearing black sunglasses, and that said person was now following him on his way to his and Grantaire's apartment. Jehan turned around a corner a few steps away of his building, and the figure smiled to himself; he'd recognized him, and now he knew where he lived.

That night, before going to bed, someone knocked on Jehan's door. He'd gotten a reply from Grantaire saying he was fine and that he'd drop by as soon as he could. The one knocking on his door could be him, so he hurried to it, rubbing his eyes that were fluttering closed with sleep. On the hallway, he saw a white envelope that had been slipped under the door. He took it and found inside a piece of paper folded at the half, with short message written on it. The message said:

 

_Well, well, it seems I've found a lost puppy._  
 _Looking forward to a reunion with you and the princess._  
 _\- C_

 

He turned the piece of paper and then the envelope around in his hands, searching for a name or something that gave him a clue of whom had sent it, but there was nothing else besides the message itself. This could be a joke, a really bad joke he didn't grasp, and he forgot about it. After a few minutes though, a distant memory came back to him, depriving him of sleep for the rest of the night.

_Oh no…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan cleared his throat so not to scare his friend when he talked again. "… You think he's gonna cheat on you?"
> 
> The question didn't change Grantaire demeanor in the slightest. Instead, the older man sighed tiredly, as if he'd been asking himself the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't finish this today but, hey! I did it!

Jehan paced around the living room with his hands behind his head; he was at the verge of a panic attack, this wasn't supposed to be happening, not after all that time. Last year when Enjolras had asked if he thought Claquesous would go after him and Grantaire when he escaped the prison, he'd say no, he'd say no and he'd been so sure of it. But now, if that message was from him as he suspected, it meant he'd been wrong… and Claquesous had found them.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, breathing deeply. The only reason why he hadn't lost it completely was that presumably Claquesous hadn't seen Grantaire. His friend had unofficially moved out with Enjolras long ago; if whatever had brought the fugitive into town had something to do with Grantaire, it would take him some time to find him. He should talk to his friend anyway… Prevent him, be ready to whatever Claquesous wanted from them. He just hoped they could get a chance to negotiate with him.

He let out a small gasp when the knocking on his door caught him by surprise. It could be anyone, but the idea of a second note made his heart start speeding up inside his chest. He peered around the wall that divided the living room from the main hallway, expecting to see an envelope on the floor. There was none. Instead, a second knocking on the door, slower this time, forced him to walk the whole way to the entrance, keeping his steps as quiet as he could.

He looked through the peephole of the door, but the person standing outside of the apartment was wearing a blank beanie and his head was bowed to their chest. "… Yeah?" Jehan stuttered, his ear pressed against the hardwood to listen through it.

"Hey, buddy," said a familiar voice from the other side.

"Grantaire?" Jehan's eyes widened and he hurried to open the door. Grantaire was standing there, smiling sideways like he did whatever something was terribly wrong but he was doing his best to hide it. "What are you doing here?" he asked, a little bit louder than he’d intended. This was the worst possible time for a visit.

"Combeferre said to go home. So here I am."

Jehan's face softened at hearing that and his initial panic disappeared momentarily. He took Grantaire's hand and pulled him inside the apartment, then threw his arms around his friend's shoulders and enveloped him in a tight hug. They walked to the couch holding hands, and once Grantaire was sitting next to him, Jehan asked him as he stroked the back of his hand.

"What's wrong? Is there a problem with Enjolras?"

Grantaire made a grimace, letting out a frustrated grunt. “Why do you immediately assume that?”

"Because, even though this is your home and it always will be, you wouldn't be here if things were going well with him," Jehan answered, unashamedly. "Besides, you knocked on the door instead of using your own key."

"… _Touché_."

"So, what happened? Why did you were to see Combeferre?" Grantaire didn't answer. He was staring at the wall opposite to them and hadn’t let go of Jehan’s hand for a second.

"Éponine was there. That was awkward", he said.

"I know, it’s like walking on your parents going at it."

"Yeah…"

"… That’s not why you went there, is it?"

"No. Enjolras is looking for his ex-boyfriend."

Jehan wasn't expecting that. To be honest, he didn't know much about Enjolras' past love life, or about any of _Carpe Diem_ 's members for that matter. When he was just a fan, he simply did not care -it was their life and he respected their privacy-; now that he was also their friend, he'd wait until they decided to share it with him. Grantaire smiled sadly and told him everything he knew. What he'd seen on the papers, what Combeferre had told him, Enjolras' behavior, everything. At some point, he rested his head on Jehan's lap, where he could caress his scalp as he listened.

"Does Enjolras know you talked to ‘Ferre?"

"Unless Combeferre had told him. I- I've been… kind of avoiding to talk to him at all."

Jehan nodded slowly. He had an idea of what was Grantaire's fear, but neither of them said it at loud. Jehan wanted to believe it was unjustified, that Enjolras would never do that, but the truth was, he didn't know him that much. And this guy, Armando? He seemed to be important to Enjolras. For what Grantaire had told him, he was like Enjolras' first love and mentor; Jehan couldn't stop himself from thinking there was a parallelism between that and his own relationship with Grantaire... and his stomach sunk. He knew the feeling. He knew what it was to fall in love with the man that had taught him everything he knew. It was something one couldn't forget easily, he was the living proof of it.

He cleared his throat so not to scare his friend when he talked again. "… You think he's gonna cheat on you?"

The question didn't change Grantaire demeanor in the slightest. Instead, the older man sighed tiredly, as if he'd been asking himself the same. "No, he wouldn't do that…”, he said, firmly. "He's gonna dump me and then marry him."

"'Aire…"

"And who's this guy, anyway? I don't know him but I think I hate him... He's become my biggest enemy and I've never even seen his face, I'm pathetic"

Jehan shook his head. Grantaire tended to shut down to every possibility when he felt distressed; he always placed himself in the worst scenarios and that didn't allow him to see a way out. That was why Jehan was there, to help him find it. "You need to talk to him, tell him how you feel and how this is hurting you."

"What’s the point, Jehan? This is stupid."

"It's not. And if he loves you, he'll hear what you have to say."

"Yeah, that's exactly the problem here…"

 

***

 

It was three in the morning when Enjolras walked out of the bedroom, looking for Grantaire. He hadn't seen him in a couple of days, and the other man hasn't answered any of his messages. He didn't know what had caused the silent treatment, but he was starting to worry about him, so he grabbed his keys and went to the door.

Before he reached the doorknob, he noticed a dim light coming out of the room he used to storage his guitars and other instruments. He went back over his steps and peeked inside the room; Grantaire was there, sitting in front of the unplugged keyboard, running his fingers over the keys, playing a silent melody he knew by heart.

"Hey" he whispered and opened the door completely. Grantaire lifted his head, startled, and nodded once when he saw him standing under the door frame. They made eye contact for a second before Grantaire went back to play the keyboard

"I didn't mean to wake you up" he said with his voice harsh. "Jehan said I should’ve spent the night over there, but… I don’t know, I wanted to be here, I guess." He ducked his head, pressing a few random keys. Enjolras walked up to him hesitantly and rested a hand over Grantaire's shoulder, but he shrugged it off softly. "I’m fine."

"Okay… We’ll talk about this in the morning." Grantaire didn't say a word. Instead, he ran his eyes around the room, looking at everything, every corner, except Enjolras. The blond tried again. "Let's go to bed."

Grantaire stood up and followed him in silence, and Enjolras did nothing to force the conversation. They lay down on the bed, giving their backs at each other between goodnight wishes said in a whisper.

~

Enjolras had a weird dream that night. He was in a warehouse with ‘Red’, his guitar, between his hands, though he wasn't playing or rehearsing. He was listening to someone speaking in front of him, a young boy with dark eyes and hair dyed of an intense shade of blue. The boy was waving his hands violently around him as he spoke; he seemed frustrated, locked up in a world that had been planned out for him, and Enjolras could feel his anger even in the dream. He clenched his hands around ‘Red’, biting his lower lip.

 _"I… I’m so fucking tired!"_ the boy shouted, tugging at his hair. _"No one's listening- no, worst, no one is doing anything! I’m tired of their fucking apathy, of seeing them sitting on their conformist asses, ignoring everyone that's trying to make a change!"_

Enjolras tried to speak but no sound came out. He watched silently as the boy kept yelling, kicking a box next to Enjolras, throwing his hands up in the air. Enjolras was trembling, not with fear -he just knew the boy wouldn't hurt him-, but with anger, impotence. He needed to make the boy know he was there, he was listening, he'll do something.

 _"Scream at me until my ears bleed!"_ , he was finally able to blurt out. The boy stopped his ranting to look at him with a frown. Enjolras felt a blush spreading over his face, but he continued. _"I'm… I'm taking heed just for you,"_ he whispered.

The boy, Armando, stared at him for a second too long, letting his words to sink in before he walked up to him and kissed him on the lips, ruffling his golden hair after. He smiled and didn't say another word as he walked away from Enjolras.

~

The blond woke up slowly and looked around him; he wasn't in the warehouse anymore, but at his apartment in California. Grantaire was asleep next to him, curled up around himself with his face to the wall. Enjolras turned over his side until he was facing the back of Grantaire's head. He let his hand rest on the pillow, very close to the black curls without really touching them, and tried to go back to sleep.

The dream, he was sure it was a memory, one he'd been thinking of for days now since saw that man that resembled Armando on the street.

 

***

 

When he finally got a reply, Enjolras almost broke up his favorite mug. He’d barely caught it before it hit the kitchen floor, but a few drops of hot coffee had stained the papers that were scattered next to his computer. He settled the mug back on the table, wiping his hand with a napkin, and opened the mail that had recently gotten into his inbox as he sat down on a chair.

After days and days of tracing old friends and almost begging them and a few other people from his teen years to give him some information about the drummer, he'd finally found a way to contact Armando. The former owner of The Rusty James had given him the phone number of the place Armando lived at in Oakland, and they had led him to talk to his roommate in Yale; long story short, after almost two weeks of digging into battered phone-books, Enjolras had an e-mail address and a short message he’d sent practically a second after of hanging off the phone. He had to wait only a day for his answer:

 

 _ **From:** al_sob@gmail.com  
_ _**Re:** Sweet Children_

> _I can't believe it's really you, Enj… God, I'm so shocked right now. This is so unexpected..._  
>    
>  _How did you find me? No, nevermind, you can tell me about it later. Yes, I'm currently in California, of course I'd love to see you. Are you free on March 15 at noon? You pick the place._  
>    
>  _I’ll be waiting for your answer._  
>    
>  _Armando S._

 

Enjolras smiled to himself and typed a reply. He was so absorbed in what he was writing that he didn't notice Grantaire had finished his shower and was now standing behind him, frowning at the mess on the table, until the dark-haired man cleared his throat loudly. Enjolras didn't turn around immediately, instead took his time to re read the message once more before hitting the "Send" button. He then spun on the chair, resting an arm on the backrest, and cocked his head at seeing Grantaire's sour face.

"What?" he asked.

"What- what’s this?"

Grantaire was pointing at the computer so Enjolras assumed he meant the message and no the papers covering a big percentage of the kitchen table. "Remember I told you about a friend I was trying to find?" Grantaire nodded, swallowing. "Well, I just got a message from him; I’m gonna see him in a few days." Enjolras couldn't hide the pride in his voice. It was the first time he used his own resources to find someone and he'd succeeded without any help. He was so good at this.

But Grantaire didn't look happy. At all. He was clenching his fist and his nostrils were moving rapidly in time with his erratic breathing, as if he was about to explode any second now… or trying to fight back tears. He closed his eyes and Enjolras took the chance to rise from the chair and approach him, attempting to hold his face between his hands. Grantaire stepped back.

"Are you okay?" Enjolras asked, taken aback.

"Why didn't you tell me you both were dating?"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You and that guy you were looking for. Why didn't you tell me he was your boyfriend? You both were dating, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah. But that's not important-"

"If it wasn't important, why did you hide it from me?" Grantaire was looking at him accusingly and Enjolras had to admit his hazel eyes were a bit intimidating, even when his whole body was trembling and his voice had cracked at the end of the sentence. He wasn't yelling, which was a good thing, but still Enjolras felt uneasy; he was lost at why Grantaire was acting like that.

"Well, I don't- I don't know! I didn't think it was worth to mention. Why? What's the matter?"

Grantaire walked up to him and breathed in deeply. "What's really going on between you both?" he said quickly. He was blushing, not daring to look him in the eyes.

"What? Grantaire, why-" _Oh..._ He'd started to understand; he should've seen it before. "You'll have to learn to trust me, 'Aire. I don't- I don't know what exactly is worrying you, but I need you to trust me. To believe that this isn't-"

"So what? You’re saying I don’t have the right to feel at least one bit suspicious about this?" Grantaire interrupted, gesturing at the papers scattered over the table. "The guy broke up with you fifteen years ago and you moved land and sea to find him, but couldn't ring a fucking number to find _me_?"

Grantaire wasn't listening anymore, and something inside Enjolras made him think he was finally voicing something that'd been eating him for days… Maybe even months. He braced himself for what was about to come. "That doesn't have anything to do with this, Grantaire…", he mumbled.

"Oh, really? The guy dumped you, Enjolras, when will you understand it? He. Dumped. You. And now you’re chasing his ass around the country when you didn't even give me a fucking chance and immediately decided I wasn't worth your time."

"I'm not chasing his ass. And we’re together now, Grantaire, for God’s sake," Enjolras gritted his teeth. He could feel himself already losing his temper; this was getting out of hand and he couldn't even begin to grasp what was so wrong about it. He had expected Grantaire to support him, not… this.

"Oh, are we really? Because for me we're living in repetition. Content in the same old shtick." Grantaire moved backwards a few steps, banging his head softly against the wall behind him. When he talked again, he did it with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It’s just that… 'I love you's not enough, Enjolras…"

"Then what is it?! What do you want me to do to make you believe me?!"

Grantaire lowered his face until their eyes locked; Enjolras often forgot how tall he was in comparison to himself, but he kept his neck upright, trying to calm down as he saw Grantaire speaking without a second thought. "Don't go see him."

Enjolras stood still in the middle of the hallway, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. "... I can't do that."

"Is that so? Or is that you don't want to…?"

Enjolras remained silent, finally lowering his head to avoid Grantaire's gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Grantaire shaking his head and walking out of the kitchen. The blond knew he had to go after him, but couldn't find in himself the strength to do so. He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the thud of the closing door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not scared of him," she said, and it sounded like she was challenging Combeferre to fight her, to make her change her mind. Combeferre knew that was an argument he'd never win.
> 
> "Well, but I am. So do me a favor and just take care of yourself, uhm?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was determined to finish this chapter today, uff. 
> 
> So, I want to apologize for the long wait in between updates. I'm so sorry I left you hanging in such a bad place but I wasn't doing really well in the past month, and I'm slowly coming back on track. Thank you to those that are still reading this, to those that took the time to leave kudos or comments, you made the whole ride a lot easier!
> 
> Also, I’m working on a face claim for this verse that you can see [here](http://anastasiapullingteeth.tumblr.com/tagged/rockbandau/chrono).
> 
> Also also, there’s a scene **describing a panic attack** in the first part of this chapter, so be careful.
> 
> Now, too much talking and not enough angst, so here’s finally chapter 5!

Jehan walked outside of his bedroom and peered inside Grantaire's. His friend had gotten there late last night, refusing to talk and locking himself behind doors. Jehan had tried to talk to him from the other side, but he only managed to convince Grantaire to unlock the door with the promise he wouldn't go inside. Grantaire was fast asleep and there were pieces of ripped paper scattered over the floor. He shook his head and went to the kitchen, so distracted that didn't see the envelope on the floor near the door. 

It took Grantaire another fifteen minutes before he finally came out of his room. He was reading a message in his cellphone, his eyes moved over the words over and over, while his free hand wrung the hem of his sweatshirt. Jehan watch him from the couch, waiting until his friend was ready to speak. Grantaire lifted his eyes and handing him the phone, without an explanation.

As Jehan had guessed, it was a message from Enjolras, asking him to come back home. Jehan didn't have an idea of what had happened exactly, so the only thing he could do was to hug his friend. "Why is he doing this to me?" Grantaire whispered, hiding his face in Jehan's neck.

"Let's get you something to eat, okay? You'll feel better afterward."

Jehan went back to the hallway and stopped in his tracks. With the door right in front of him, he was able to see the envelope on the floor. His heart skipped a beat; not now, not with Grantaire in the house. He moved hastily to across the hallway to pick up the note and stared at it for several seconds. His hands were shaking, he didn't want to open it.

"Jehan?" Grantaire asked, poking his head out of the entrance to the living room.

"Ye- yeah. Give me a second."

He tore open the envelope and inspected its contents. There were two pieces of paper inside, one with a phone number, and the other with Claquesous' new message:

_You tricked me for a moment there! I thought you were on your own now, all grown up and independent. You saved me of long hours of boring research, it's so endearing you're still together!_

_Now, you're gonna be a good puppy and won't tell any of this to Grantaire, or else I'll go for his head, got it? Call this number when you're alone._

_And be careful, Jehan, or he'll be the one that pays it, and I know how much you don't want that._

_\- C_

Jehan could feel himself hyperventilating, his hands covering his mouth, pressing firmly over his cheekbones. He felt like throwing up and lightheaded; with an incredible amount of effort, he sat on the floor, right in the middle of the hallway, trying to control his breathing. e had to calm down enough to go back with Grantaire, or he'd realize something was wrong. He had enough with Enjolras', this was the least he needed.

After five minutes that felt like an eternity, he walked back inside the living room, the meal completely forgotten. Grantaire was looking out of the window, barely tilting his head when he heard him coming.

"I'm an idiot," Grantaire mumbled, running a hand over his tired face, shaking his head disapprovingly at himself. "I shouldn't have said all that, Enjolras must be hating me right now."

Jehan nodded absentmindedly; he could hear Grantaire's voice, but the meaning of his words escaped him, as if they were coming from a different room, far away from where he stood, making them hard to understand. He couldn't focus in anything else besides his hands wrapped tightly around the paper he'd found in the front door. His blood rushed inside his veins and his brain worked in overdrive, tens of thoughts passing at full speed in front of his eyes. He had to do this right, there were lots of things in stake, he couldn't fail...

He felt a hand on his cheek and he actually screamed out of fear. Grantaire was standing across from him, watching him with worry. "What's wrong," he asked, surprised by his friend's reaction to a simple touch.

"Sorry, it's nothing... Just, thinking... You know."

"About what?"

"Uh..." He opened his mouth and closed it again a few times, resembling a fish out of the water. He wasn't sure of how much Claquesous knew about them or if he was alone in this, he didn't even know what he wanted to begin with; that was exactly why he couldn't tell Grantaire about the messages, not yet, at least, it was too risky. Instead, he went for the easiest way out. "You... And Enjolras. I'm trying to process the whole... situation here."

Fortunately, Grantaire went along with it. "So you think he hates me", he said and his eyes darkened a bit more.

"What? No! Of course not? Why would he do that?"

Grantaire sat down on the couch and rested his elbows on each of his thighs, letting his head hanging between his hunched shoulders. Jehan took the opportunity to hide the note in a near drawer and followed him. "Why do you think he hates you?"

"I ruined everything, didn't I? God, I just don't know what to do. It's pathetic I'm... competing with someone I don't even know! Like, I should trust Enjolras, right? I mean, I do trust him, it's just... It's just..."

"... You feel threatened by this other guy."

"Let's be honest, Jehan," Grantaire said, turning on the couch until he was facing his friend completely. The lines of his face were so evident; he looked tired and sad. "What do I have to offer him? I'm nothing like him, like neither of them, I still can't believe Enjolras... that he fell for me. Even _I_ would choose Armando over me without a second thought, why wouldn't he?"

"Don't compare yourself with a memory, 'Aire. That's not fair."

Grantaire avoided his eyes and apparently decided to also ignore his comment, since he changed topics in the next sentence. "Maybe if I go back there and... And tell him is fine, that I don't mind he goes to see him. That's probably the best idea, don't you think?"

"Yeah, except for the fact that you do mind."

"I'm just paranoid. This hiatus is taking forever, I need to put my mind on something else, concentrate in the music, and everything will be fine."

Jehan knew Grantaire was trying to convince himself rather than him, but didn't mention it. He turned his attention to the drawer where Claquesous' note was hidden and bit his lip. Grantaire would certainly go back to Enjolras' place, which meant he could think about what to do; dialing the number attached to the note was his better option at the moment.

 

***

 

Cosette never thought that married life could be so exciting. She and Marius had  come back from the lovely week they'd spent in a small cottage in England after their wedding, and they were still moving all their stuff into the new apartment. Cosette wanted a big house with a yard and flowers everywhere, but Marius was right: it was a lot of space for just the two of them. Maybe later on, she would convince him.

"If you need anything, just call me, okay?" Valjean asked, like he did every time he went to visit the his daughter; he was having a hard time accepting his baby was a grown up woman with a husband.

"Dad, we're literally around the corner, we'll be fine."

"Okay..." He kissed her forehead and patted Marius' back, even though he glared at him before walking out of the door.

"That's still scary..." the freckled man said and Cosette chuckled. "I'll make dinner, it'd be ready in a minute.

Since Cosette had become a teenager, she thought someone like her could never have a boyfriend, let alone get married. Not only her father was behind her like a sentinel, protecting her of any harm, especially when surrounded by musicians and the press since birth, but also had the inconvenience that every boy she'd tried to date had asked something from her that she couldn't give. "It's because you don't love me enough," she'd been told countless times, and the guilt had crushed her for years.

So she opted to focus on the love she had with her family and friends. Her papa kept her again from his job, but spent enough time with her that she didn't miss him when he was away. And there was Éponine, too, whom she'd befriended entirely by accident before she learned she was meant to became a manager just like her father. She was fine, but the desire of falling in love was still there.

"Honey, can you come here for a second?" Marius called.

She walked inside the kitchen and saw loads of bowls an other things on the counter, flour and eggs waiting near. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, just a small question... The frosting doesn't need salt, does it? It's curiosity, that's all."

Then Marius came along two years ago; it was funny how they almost didn't meet. Valjean never went with the bands whenever they were touring; he had a lot of other people to work with and couldn't afford it, so he just sent them to the road with his best wishes and went back home to have dinner with Cosette. That was how they did it, until the 99 Revolutions fiasco in 2012.

The problem _Carpe Diem_ had upon them was so big that her dad had to be present at every moment, so when they announced the tour, Cosette interrupted her work as a freelance photographer to go with them. It was the only way her father would be at peace; plus, she'd travel around the country and would attend private meetings with the people she'd only heard stories of.

Her life had changed since that moment. Marius not only understood a supported her, but hadn't even flinched when Cosette told him how she felt. So she stopped to worry so much about it; Marius didn't push her and, even though she'd tried to persuade him when he asked her to marry him, he had insisted, letting her know that there was nothing she should be apologizing for, that she should never, _ever_ feel guilty or responsible for someone else's desires, even if that person was Marius himself. She was happy, they both were; she couldn't have asked for anything better.

 

***

 

"So you mean... he spent the night here. Again."

Éponine shrugged and that was answer enough for Combeferre. He rolled his eyes and looked back at the couch where an eleven-year old boy was sleeping, covered by the sheet from head to toe, except from his right leg, that was hanging off of the couch. He was wearing an oversize sock that, after a closer inspection, Combeferre recognized as his own; he must've left it behind in one of his visits.

He tilted his head towards his girlfriend with a questioning gaze and she smiled sheepishly, biting her tongue. "He was cold." Combeferre shook his head and walked to the kitchen. After a quick glance at the boy, Éponine followed him.

Combeferre turned on the coffee pot and leaned against the counter. He was face to face with Éponine and the woman crossed her arms over her chest, using them like a shield; she was looking down at the floor, avoiding Combeferre's eyes. "Before you say something," Combeferre began. "I'm not demanding you an explanation. It's not my place to do so."

"... But?" Éponine asked, lifting her eyes and cocking and eyebrow; she knew him so well.

"But... I'd like to understand what's going on here. What are you getting yourself into."

Éponine sighed, moving her hands to rest on her hips. She was trying to find the right words. "I... don't know, okay? I couldn't let him on the streets. His boss is terrible with him, Combeferre. There are days where he doesn't have anything to eat, what else did you want me to do?"

Combeferre walked closer to her and took her hands, kissing her knuckles gently. "I'm not judging you. On the contrary, I think is wonderful what you're doing. But you're putting yourself in danger."

"He's a kid, he won't-"

"I don't mean him," Combeferre interrupted her, caressing Éponine's cheek with a finger. "I mean the man he works for. You don't know him, you don't know what he's capable of. He could accuse you of kidnapping the kid, and judging by what Gavroche had said, that's nothing compared with the things he's done before."

They'd been dating for over a year and in that time, Combeferre had seen all kind of different emotions crossing Éponine's eyes. He'd seen pride after closing a good deal, happiness when talking to Cosette and Musichetta, love when she opened her eyes in the morning and looked at him; he'd even seen embarrassment every now and then on the times Combeferre had sung for her in the bed. But the look his girlfriend wore at the moment was one Combeferre had never seen before, not with that force at least; it was determination, strong enough to make the weak back away with just a glare.

"I'm not scared of him," she said, and it sounded like she was challenging Combeferre to fight her, to make her change her mind. Combeferre knew that was an argument he'd never win.

"Well, but I am. So do me a favor and just take care of yourself, uhm?"

"Okay..."

"Ugh, you're gross", said a voice behind them and Combeferre stepped away from Éponine instinctively.

Gavroche was standing on the door, rubbing his eye. Combeferre's socks were enormous on him and his golden hair was shaggy and knotted everywhere. He walked past them, pointed at the fridge with a questioning glance at Éponine, and after she nodded, he pulled a bowl of ice-cream out of it, then proceeded to sit on the couch with his legs folded under him.

"Go with him, please?" Éponine asked in a whisper. "Talk to him, see if he tells you something about where he lives or that man."

Combeferre nodded, kissed and followed the boy.

He sat down on the couch with Gavroche then. The boy had the bowl of ice-cream resting on his lap and was taking his time to taste it, licking the spoon as if he were eating a delicacy made by the gods. This was the first time they were relatively alone since they met a few days ago when Éponine had introduced him as a part-time assistant, a fancy way of saying she kept him close to do small chores every once in a while.

So far the only real task Combeferre had seen him perform was classifying Éponine's vinyl records alphabetically -that, as far as Combeferre had seen, had been Gavroche's own idea-; he mostly watched t.v. or refilled the hummingbird's feeder, apparently keeping an eye on the apartment when Éponine wasn't home. Combeferre smiled at thinking Gavroche was experiencing some things for the first time since he started "working" for Éponine, like the ice-cream or sleeping somewhere comfy and warm.

He didn't noticed Gavroche was also looking at him, studying his face, gestures, and even his clothes. He was doing it unabashedly, tapping the spoon on his lips; Combeferre shifted on the couch.

"Is this an examination?"

"I know she can kick ass own her own," he said, tilting his head towards the kitchen where Éponine was making breakfast. "But she let me sleep on the couch and gave me ice-cream so... Y'know, just checking you ain't a douchebag."

"And what's the verdict, your honor?"

"Still deciding. You seem like a decent guy so far, let's see if you fuck it up."

"Language," Éponine scolded. Gavroche only rolled his eyes, it was obvious that wasn't the first time something like that happened.

"And what do you do with your life?" Gavroche asked, going back at eating the contents of his bowl, barely paying attention to Combeferre's answer.

"I'm a musician."

"So a douchebag after all," the boy said, and Combeferre frowned, confused.

"What you mean?"

"I've seen some stuff here and there. You people are always douchebags."

"You hang out with people like me all the time?"

"Well, no. But my father, y'know? He wasn't talented enough to do that, but he worked with bands. He traveled all around the country and shit, that's how he met mom."

Combeferre looked behind him carefully. Éponine was listening to them and, when she saw that Gavroche had lowered his defenses in favor of the ice-cream and was answering questions Éponine had asked before, she prompted him to keep going, so that was what Combeferre did. "And... where's your mom now?"

"She passed when I was born. I was sent with my father but he sold me to Tholomyès. I've been living with him since then."

"He... sold you?"

"Yeah, he had a daughter or something? Like, a real daughter with a last name and everything. And I think there was also another girl somewhere. I don't know, he had like a lot of shit to deal with, I wasn't welcome there so he sold me."

They heard a plate crashing on the floor of the kitchen and they both ran to help Éponine. The woman was standing motionless in the middle of the room and her eyes found Combeferre's, he knew they both were thinking the same. It could be just a coincidence, but still, the doubt was there.

"Hey," Gavroche said after throwing away the pieces of ceramic into the trash can. "I gotta go. Tholomyès doesn't care where I work at as long I give him the money so, I'll do that now. Should I...?" he asked, waving his hand vaguely.

Éponine cleared her throat. "Yeah, yeah. Come back here when you're done."

When Gavroche walked out of the apartment, Éponine sat on the couch, her face pale and lips dry. She looked at Comebeferre and whispered: "I think... The story he told, there are a lot of coincidences."

"I know, I thought so myself, but it's too soon to make assumptions."

"No... His father... And my dad, he was famous for screwing every woman he laid eyes on. What if Gavroche is my brother?"

Yes, they both had thought the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you has a tumblr - or even if you don't but want to check from time to time - this is [my fanfic blog](http://anastasiawritingfics.tumblr.com/), in case you want to follow me there :D
> 
> Thank you guys, hope you're liking it so far!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire knew what they said about him. That his relationship with Enjolras was impossible, some sort of marketing strategy to make them sell more records after the tour’s success, that it couldn't be real. He had to convince Enjolras that he was worth keeping, even if everybody said otherwise, even if he himself didn't believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: mild violence, mentions of suicide, insinuations of murder, manipulation, offensive language

Gavroche didn’t come back to Éponine’s apartment until 5 in the afternoon. Combeferre was still there, at the woman’s request. She was having a hard time accepting the prospect that the kid could be his brother; it seemed like a story out of a telenovela. She needed to know, but what was really scaring her was that, if it was true, if Gavroche was really her brother, what would she do about it?

The boy was exhausted when he walked through the door. He was welcomed by a tense silence from the grown-ups, but he seemed oblivious, flopping face down on the couch instead, after smiling at Éponine. She sat down next to him on the couch, patting his shoulder awkwardly.

“Gav?” The boy grunted as an answer. “Look, Combeferre and I need to go… to a place.” She glanced back at Combeferre; her boyfriend was frowning and shaking his head, but let her talk either way. “I need you to stay here. Eat anything you want, you know where everything is in the kitchen.”

“‘kay, see ya.”

She covered him with a light blanket and approached Combeferre. “'Ponine, no-” he began, but she took his hand and guided him to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it with her hands joined over her lap, fought to find the right words. She knew what she had to do, she wanted to, and she would accept the consequences.

“I’m going to talk to Tholomyès,” she said without any hesitation. Combeferre rubbed his eyes, not a bit surprised by the confession. “I’d like you to come with me, but… But I know you don’t agree with any of this, so… You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Combeferre looked up at her, smiling sideways, and walked closer. He kissed her forehead, letting her bury her head in his chest as he caressed the back of her neck. “Let me go grab my coat.”

They went to the market Éponine had first seen Gavroche. It was practically empty when they arrived, but there were a few men gathered outside a seedy bar. Éponine exchanged a glance with Combeferre and they walked together to the entrance, where a bulky man was practically inhaling his beer. He looked them down, snorting when they approached him.

“This is no place for someone like you.”

“We’re looking for Tholomyès,” she went straight to the point.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re too carrying his child.”

“Can you help us find him?” Combeferre interrupted, tightening his grip on her hand.

The man pointed to the side of the bar with a nod of the head. In a far table, was a guy with a big hat, sitting alone with his glass. Éponine didn't wait, walking between the tables with her head up and ignoring the whistles around her. Combeferre stopped halfway through, glaring at two men, but Éponine pulled his hand, shaking her head; it wasn't worth it, the sooner they talk to Tholomyès, the better.

“Tholomyès?” she asked when they approached his table. He looked up, unimpressed, and took a sip of his glass.

“The very same. What can I do for you?”

“You know a boy. Gavroche.”

The man sighed tiredly, taking another sip of his glass. “Look, girl, if that little rat stole from you, there’s nothing I can do about it! That brat works on his own, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

“He didn't steal. I need to ask you some questions about him.”

“What kind of questions?”

Éponine took a seat in front of the man, her hands joined over the table and legs crossed. It was the exact posture she took when closing a deal and that was this, a deal. Combeferre observed their surroundings before joining them at the table. “Who was the man that sold you the kid?” she said.

“What are you, a cop?”

“No. This is personal.”

“He said the mother was dead…” Tholomyès whispered, leaning closer and scrutinizing Éponine's face.

“Who’s he?” she pressed, handing him a small wad of cash. Combeferre’s eyes went wide beside her and she felt embarrassed for a brief second; she'd learned a lot from her father, and she'd learned it well.

Tholomyès counted the money, pursing his lips; after a moment, he smiled at Éponine. “His name’s Thénardier. You won't find him here, he fled to Europe long time ago.”

“... Thénardier?”

“He got two women pregnant outside his marriage. Two that we knew of, at least. One was an woman from Los Angeles, a few years after he got married. Thénardier and the mother got to an… arrangement,” he said, rubbing together the tips of his fingers. “She went away with her daughter. The other was a girl, a lot younger than you. She died giving birth to a boy, or that’s what he said. Thénardier brought Gavroche here then; he knew my wife wanted to have a baby, so I got one for her. When she ran away, she left the kid behind. I had to make him work for his food; I ain’t not charity.”

“Thank you…”

Éponine got up hastily, seeking Combeferre's hand. Tholomyès took his glass, watching the content with great interest. “Why did you want to know?” he asked before they could walk away.

“I met the boy’s mother,” she lied.

 

***

 

“Choose a place and I’ll go see you there.” Jehan said in the phone, clenching his fist as he heard a grim laugh answering his proposition.

“Oh, but I have a place!” Claquesous said. “I’ll drop by your pretty apartment when you least expect it.”

“No, not here. Unless you want to get caught in a second. There’s always people outside this doors, you asshole.”

That was partially true; while they were somehow widely known, their fan base wasn't as extreme as anyone would’ve thought. There was always a group of three or four people waiting for them to show up, take pictures and sign all kinds of stuff, but that didn't make it necessary to hire a big quadrille of body guards. They were mostly on their own all the time, but Jehan wasn't stupid, he wouldn't let this convict enter his home.

“I know you’re lying, baby,” the man replied, using that nickname they’d given him when he was seventeen. And he hated it, how much he hated it. “But okay, I’ll give you a chance. There’s a public library downtown. See you there an hour before they close. Oh, and Jehan? You know the drill, don’t do something stupid.”

Jehan arrived at the library Claquesous had mentioned twenty minutes early; there was no trace of the man. The place was crowded and Jehan couldn’t help but thinking he’d made a mistake; there were lots of innocent people there. Claquesous was nowhere to be seen; probably he’d regret it when he saw the amount of people gathered in the place. Half an hour later, Jehan was running out of ideas to stay the library, people would certainly notice him if he kept pacing between the shelves.

A large figure took him by the arm out of nowhere and guided him to back of the library, where no one could listen to them. Jehan was shaking at the thought that Claquesous probably had been watching him since he got there and became aware that he didn’t know how the man looked like. He hadn’t seen him in years, how many times had he crossed paths with him without knowing?  
The man threw him against the wall of one the farthest sections. Two big shelves flanked the hallway they were at, covering them from the sight of any curious bystander. Jehan swallowed the grunt caused by his back hitting the brick wall. The tall guy approached him, pulling down the hood of his gray sweatshirt, and Jehan had to suppress a gasp.

The few times Jehan had seen Claquesous without his mask during his teen years, he’d noticed he wasn’t exactly a good looking man. His eyes were threatening and his nose and ears were full of lumps and little marks of untreated wounds. But even then, he looked... alive. There was nothing left of that Claquesous in the man cornering Jehan. His dark eyes looked lifeless, despite the fact that he was smirking. A big, ugly scar ran from his ear, over his nose, and down to his throat, making irregular patterns on the redish skin; there were marks of cigarette burns on his cheeks and neck. Jehan lowered his eyes to the ground.

“Why so shy, baby? You like what you see?” Jehan didn’t say a word, only bending his head a little bit more. Claquesous took his chin and forced him to look up, to look at him, digging his fingers in the younger man’s jaw. “I missed you, too. You’re still as beautiful as the first time we met.”

He let go of his chin, slapping his cheek lightly. “W- why are you here?” Jehan stuttered, keeping eye contact with Claquesous.

“The view, the restaurants, the people,” the man mocked him. He rested a hand at each side of Jehan’s head, trapping him between the wall and his own body. Jehan didn’t flinch, his hands clenched in fists, ready to fight back if Claquesous tried anything. “Money,” the convict whispered in his ear. His breath ghosted his neck, the fetid smell impregnating his nose. “I need money. And you’re gonna get it for me.”

He stepped back, giving Jehan space to breath. “What?”

“You make good friends in prison, you know?” Claquesous said, pointing at the scar on his face. “And after you leave, suddenly everyone wants to catch up with you. Let’s just say there’s someone out there longing to see me. We can’t let that happen and you’re gonna help me with that.”

“What if I don’t wanna do that?”

“I’m surprised you dare to believe you have a say in all this.” Claquesous approached him, took him by the shirt, and banged him against the wall. Jehan grunted a bit louder this time, rubbing the back of his head. Claquesous pulled him closer, until their noses were inches apart, and slapped his cheek again. “If you refuse to help me, I’m gonna have a little talk with that pussy Grantaire.”

“Don’t touch him.”

“I don’t need to touch him to destroy him. All I need to do is remind him how he killed Montparnasse and it’ll be bye bye Grantaire.”

Jehan’s stomach sank. He was sure he stopped breathing at some point and the words got stuck in his throat. His voice was shaky when he spoke. “He didn’t do it. He didn’t do it, you know that! Montparnasse killed himself.”

“Well,” Claquesous said, letting him go. “That’s what you made him believe. I’m sure I can convince him otherwise.” He fixed Jehan’s shirt, patted him on the cheek, and walked away. “We’ll be in touch, baby.”

When Claquesous disappeared around the corner, Jehan slid down to the floor, pressing his back against the wall. He breathed in and out a few times, his eyes focused on his feet and arms wrapped around himself. His message tone went off and he jumped on his place, startled. His hands were shaking when he took his phone out of his jeans’ pocket; it was a text from Courfeyrac. He looked up his friend’s number in his contacts list and called him.

“Jehan!” Courfeyrac answered immediately. “So, we’re going to see you tomorrow, right? We need to-”

“Courf?” Jehan whispered, pressing the phone against his ear. “Courf, can you… Can you pick me up? Please…”

“Jehan? What happened?” Courfeyrac asked, worry audible in his voice. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“The library.”

“Hold on there, JP. I’m gonna get ya. Don’t move.”

He hung up, letting the phone fall on the floor with a clang. Ten minutes later, Courf found him on the same spot he’d been since Claquesous left the library. He barely had time to wrap him in a tight hug before a woman asked them to leave. Courf drove them back to his apartment in silence. When he closed the door behind them, Jehan threw his arms around his friend’s neck, burying his head in his chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

“What happened?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Nothing,” Jehan choked out. “Nothing. Just… hug me, please.”

“Okay… I’ve got you, you’re fine now.”

“Thank you, thank you…”

 

***

 

When Grantaire met Éponine, she said he didn’t have “celebrity material”. According to her, he was talented, sassy enough to charm the fans, and had a particular likeness to a tormented artist that was attractive in its own way. “If only you could keep your ass in your house when you want to think, I wouldn't have to look for you in the whole damn city,” she’d scolded him repeatedly. But he needed to go for a walk when things were getting out of his hands, when he couldn’t sleep, or when he was writing a new song. He’d always found himself in the streets; he’d grew up there, they were the place that he called home.

He’d left the apartment around five hours ago, with the promise that he would go to see Enjolras. Jehan was completely out of his mind, distracted, absent from every conversation Grantaire tried to start with him, and he assumed he needed some time alone as well. He feared that maybe they were growing apart from each other since they moved to California, and it was his entire fault. He’d practically abandoned him. He needed to amend his friendship with Jehan; he couldn’t lose him too.

His message tone went off inside his jeans and he pulled his cellphone out of the pocket; Courfeyrac had sent him a text to confirm their rehearsal for that little project he had for Feuilly’s birthday party. He replied with plain “yes”, before noticing he’d been mentioned in a few Instagram photos. He hesitated to see them, but turned the cellphone off instead.

He’d promised Musichetta and Éponine he wouldn’t read the fans’ comments, that he would let them take care of it, but he’d lied; he knew what they said about him. That his relationship with Enjolras was impossible, some sort of marketing strategy to make them sell more records after the tour’s success, that it couldn’t be real; the cruelest wouldn’t stop to tell him how much he didn’t deserve Enjolras, sometimes they even shouted it in his face.

And he knew they were right. He'd known since they kissed in the backstage almost ten years ago and, after Enjolras heard the horrible things he’d done in the past, he had the weird feeling Enjolras had stayed with him out of pity. Grantaire had to convince him that he was worth keeping, even if everybody said otherwise, even if he himself didn’t believe it.

“Fuck, Grantaire.” Enjolras said as soon as he saw him walking inside the apartment. “You scared me, are you okay?” He approached him cautiously, stretching an arm to try to touch him. “Jehan said you were coming home and-”

Enjolras’ words died in his throat when Grantaire took his face between his hands and kissed him. It was messy and not nearly as romantic as Grantaire had planned, but maybe then Enjolras wouldn’t notice he was shaking, scared of pushing Enjolras away with the kiss. Enjolras stood still but soon his arms were wrapped around Grantaire’s waist. That gave him enough confidence to lead him into the bedroom, where he pushed him gently down on the mattress. He knelt between his legs, avoiding to touch him more than strictly necessary.

“Grantaire, what are you-” Enjolras tried to ask, but Grantaire interrupted him.

“Don’t talk, just let me show you, okay?”

Enjolras looked up at him, frowning. Grantaire’s hands were resting motionless on Enjolras hips, waiting for an approving sign to undo the button of his jeans. The blond bit his lips but propped himself up on his elbows and pulled him down for a long kiss. When they broke apart, Grantaire finally got rid of Enjolras’ jeans, lowering them down to his knees where they wouldn’t get in the way. He straddled his legs, kissing his hipbones, and mouthed at the bulge in Enjolras’ underwear.

The blond gasped, tangling his long fingers in Grantaire’s hair. He was still supporting his weight on his elbow, looking at Grantaire through his eyelashes and caressing his scalp. But Grantaire didn’t want this to be tender and slow; he wanted to make him lose his head in the pleasure, to make him forget about everything Grantaire had done wrong and focus on what he could do right.

“Lay down,” Grantaire asked him, pulling down Enjolras’ underwear. He complied, an indulgent smile curving his lips.

Grantaire took a deep breath and licked the tip of Enjolras hardening cock, down to his balls, taking one between his lips. He peppered him with kisses, twirling his tongue around him until he was fully erected, and then took him in his mouth. Enjolras grabbed the bed post for support as the muscles of his legs and stomach tensed under Grantaire; his moans were barely audible above the sound of the bed sheets around them, moving with every jerk of Enjolras’ body.

Grantaire bobbed his head up and down a couple of times before trying to deep throat him. He’d never done it before but this was special. He got him almost all inside, but his eyes were wet from the effort. Even so, he kept going a little further until he felt himself unable to breath. He withdrew from him in a coughing fit.

“You okay?” He heard Enjolras asking.

“Yeah, don’t move.”

He took Enjolras’ dick once again in his mouth, lapping at the tip and humming to stimulate him with the vibrations. Enjolras was writhing under him, trying to spread his legs wider but unable to do it with the jeans around his knees. He whimpered, opting for pulling lightly at Grantaire’s black curls, moaning every time his tongue twirled around him.

“‘Aire,” he gasped. “'Aire, I’m gonna- I’m gonna come, you shouldn’t-”

Grantaire shook his head as best as he could, wrapping a hand around the base of Enjolras’ cock and stroking it along with the bobbing of his head, hollowing his cheeks to suck him on every upright move. Enjolras was completely lost for words; he was moaning shamelessly now, and when he came in Grantaire’s throat, he bent his body forward, lifting his back from the mattress as he let the orgasm encroach his senses.

Grantaire licked the last drops of cum from Enjolras and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. He looked up at the blond, mesmerized by the sight. Enjolras had his eyes closed and his breathing was irregular, as if he had run a marathon; Grantaire loved to see him like that, loved to know he was the one that had put that smile on Enjolras’ face.

The blond opened his eyes and stretched an arm to prompt him to come closer. Grantaire crawled next to him and lay down on his side of the bed. Enjolras took off his jeans, adjusted the underwear back on place, and snuggled next to Grantaire. He palmed him absentmindedly through the rough fabric of his jeans, kissing him behind the ear.

“Give me a minute and I’ll return the favor.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“No, no. That was … Wow, that was awesome. I’d like to do the same for you.”

“I… I’m tired, can we sleep instead? Please?”

Enjolras smiled, throwing an arm around Grantaire’s waist. “Okay. But I’m gonna make it up to you somehow.” Grantaire nodded.

The silence stretched between them, one submerged in his own thoughts, the other trying to get his breath back. After what it seemed like hours, Enjolras whispered in his ear. “Was this make-up sex?”

“Uh… Yeah, sure.”

“I loved it.”

“… Me too.”

At least _this_ Grantaire could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [Sam](http://lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com/) has made a series of awesome edits ([x](http://lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com/post/121126606520/les-mis-au-rock-punk-band-the-legendary-punk), [x](http://lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com/post/121209471295/les-mis-au-famous-au-eponine), [x](http://lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com/post/121401070225/les-mis-au-cosette-marius-combeferre), [x](http://lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com/post/121468948205/les-mis-au-eponine-thenardier-famous-au-we-all), [x](http://lifeofthewickedwitch.tumblr.com/post/121545481140/endless-list-of-favorite-fics-les-mis-edition)) and I think you should totes go show her some love because she deserves it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire stepped on the front, rummaging inside the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a cigarette, light it out, and proceeded to smoke, ignoring Jehan's disapproving look. Bahorel caught Grantaire glancing at Enjolras, dragging off of his cigarette almost like a challenge; the blond pursed his lips, staring back. Grantaire tapped the ashes off and put the cigarette between the strings at the headstock of his guitar.
> 
> "So…" he said, clearing his throat and pulling a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. "This song was Courf’s idea-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooo sorry but... Well, I ran out of excuses.
> 
> Second part of this is fan service for Sam.

Feuilly’s birthday arrived sooner than any of them had expected. Bahorel had been busy preparing everything; he’d visited Musichetta almost every day for three weeks, asking her how to cook this and bake that. Musichetta had offered to help him countless times, but he always refused after writing down the woman’s instructions. He wanted this to be special for Feuilly and he wanted to do it himself; Musichetta wouldn't argue with that.

The date was set on Wednesday night at Bahorel's apartment. When Musichetta and her boyfriends walked through the door, they found the place already full with people. "We're only waiting for Enjolras and Grantaire", Bahorel announced when he closed the door behind them. "Make yourselves at home, Feuilly's over there."

Musichetta walked behind Joly and Bossuet, wearing her brightest smile, hoping that would be enough to let everyone know she was fine. It’d been over a year since her miscarriage, but some of them, particularly those that aren't too familiar with her (i.e. Marius and Enjolras), still walked around her with fear of saying the wrong thing, like she was about to break at any moment. Yes, she'd lost her baby and yes, it hurt just to think about it, but she didn't want to bring the subject up.

She didn't want to talk about the bag with dozens of little baby clothes hidden in the back of her closet, she didn't want to talk about the notebook Bossuet had under the bed where he'd written down the names they'd chosen, or the first instrumental song Joly had played on the guitar to Musichetta's belly. She didn't want to talk about any of that so she smiled, smiled to everyone that walked close to her, hoping that that would be enough to keep the questions away.

"You did a good job", she commented, looking around where her friends where already enjoying the party.

"Thank you, thank you… It wasn’t easy, but we did it. Didn't we, boy?" the drummer cooed, rubbing the head of the dog sitting at his feet, a German shepherd crossbreed named Mojo he'd found in the streets of Minneapolis a year before they moved to California. Bahorel had made him sit next to him in the van, the head of the 60 lb dog resting on his lap as the drummer hummed a song and petted his back the entire trip to keep him calm. Mojo was still a little puppy when the drummer had found him behind some trash cans outside a bar; he'd grown up so big in so little time.

The dog lifted his ears, watchful, and a minutos later he was whining at the door, waving his tail happily and waiting for Bahorel to let in whoever was at the other side. "That must be Grantaire and Enjolras. It took them long enough, uh?"

"Let me," Musichetta said, stopping Bahorel with a hand on his arm.

When Musichetta opened the door, she immediately noticed something was off between the couple standing outside. They looked tense, shoulders up defensively and elbows pressing hard at their sides. Enjolras was smiling but it seemed fake; it didn’t reached his eyes and the hand holding Grantaire's apparently was there to stop him from running away instead of an act of love. She decided not to comment on it and stepped aside to let them in.

Grantaire freed his hand and walked inside, kissing Musichetta cheek. "Is everyone else here already?" he said, casually.

"We... We were only waiting for you."

"Sorry, we're late," Enjolras apologized. "It wasn't an easy day so far." Musichetta didn't miss the way the blond's eyes bored a hole in the back of Grantaire's head, certainly blaming him for their tardiness.

"No worries. Come on in."

Enjolras went straight to Feuilly and Musichetta took the opportunity to talk to Grantaire alone. The man was kneeling in a corner, pretending to be very interested in his guitar case, pulling the instrument out and tuning the strings. She approached him carefully, watching as he stood up, resting his back and head against the wall. He was waving briefly at their friends when Musichetta stopped next to him; his smile was hollow and he looked like he hadn't slept well in days.

"Hey, you okay?" she ask, catching the way Grantaire kept rubbing a hand over his face; it seemed it required quite a big amount of energy to stay awake where he stood. "You look tired."

"Yeah, sorry. I... didn't want to come."

"You can go if you want, I'll distract them."

"I promised Courf I'd be here. Enjolras would never let me break up a promise, such a noble man."

Musichetta half smiled, ignoring the sarcasm in Grantaire's sentence, and hugged him even when he tried to push her away. He stopped fighting when the woman's hand rubbed his back and neck, undoing the knots in his muscles. He let out a long sigh, kissing her cheek.

"You're fighting again, aren't you?" she inquired when they ended the hug.

Grantaire shrugged, taking a beer from a near table. "Not exactly... We're... I don't know, it's probably just my paranoia."

"Did something happen?"

"It's nothing... Seriously, don't look at me like that," he added when Musichetta cocked an eyebrow. "It's really stupid, don't worry, okay?"

"If you say so..."

 

***

 

Bahorel looked around him with pride. It wasn’t exactly how he’d like it, not the big party he had in mind, but he’d managed to put together a small stage in a corner of his apartment where _TBGML_ , Grantaire and the guy's side project, would perform for them. Feuilly had mentioned once that he liked the twist of the music they wrote together, it was refreshing, so the first thing Bahorel had done once Feuilly agreed to do the party was to ask them to prepare a small show.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were sitting not far from the stage with their shoulders pressed together, and Bahorel approached them to inform them it was almost their turn to play. It wasn't until he was a few steps away that he noticed they were not really talking, but Courf had Jehan's hand grasped firmly between his own, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb; Jehan flinched everytime he heard a loud sound - a fork falling on the floor or Mojo's unexpected barking. Bahorel frowned.

"Hey, kid," he called, placing a gentle hand on Jehan's shoulder. "Are you okay? You seem a little nervous."

Jehan looked up at him, eyes wide open as he denied vigorously. "I'm fine, I'm perfect… Too much coffee, I guess."

He was lying, Bahorel knew, but that wasn't the moment to call him out of it; he'd talk to him when the party ended. "Okay," he conceded instead, and turned his attention to Courfeyrac with a questioning look; Courfeyrac only shook his head in the faintest move. “Well, then... You'll burn all that caffeine on stage, you're about to get up there. Are you guys ready?"

"Yes!" Courf said, standing up and pulling Jehan along with him. "Just give us a minute..." he trailed off, deliberately checking Bahorel out.

Bahorel looked down at his outfit -worn out jeans, blazer, white shirt, black skinny tie, and converse- and glanced back at his fellow drummer with a confused frown. Courfeyrac smirked and turned around to approach Grantaire and Marius, dragging Jehan by the hand. They exchange a few words and then took their instruments that had been forgotten in a corner. When Marius walked next to Bahorel, he noticed the freckled man had eyed him with a something between excitement and terror. If he'd known they would act so weird, he'd thought of a better way to entertain Feuilly on his birthday.

Courfeyrac took the mic and winked at Bahorel before saying: "Okay, people! Gather 'round, it's time for the magic show!"

They all pulled their chairs closer to the small stage, while _TBGML_ got ready. Grantaire stepped on the front, rummaging inside the pockets of his jacket. He pulled out a cigarette, light it out, and proceeded to smoke, ignoring Jehan's disapproving look. Bahorel caught Grantaire glancing at Enjolras, dragging off of his cigarette almost like a challenge; the blond pursed his lips, staring back. Grantaire tapped the ashes off and put the cigarette between the strings at the headstock of his guitar.

"So…" he said, clearing his throat and pulling a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. "This song was Courf's idea-"

"Hey!"

"-But we all sort of… helped him, so…" he added, shrugging. "Anyway, I didn't learn the lyrics, to be honest… Joly, can you come on here and hold this while I play the guitar?"

Joly nodded, handing his glass to Bossuet. He held the sheet in front of Grantaire's eyes, and waited for him to adjust his guitar. "This is a present for Feuilly, happy birthday Feuilly, but we also want to dedicate it to Bahorel… Because, uh… you did… an amazing job with the party? … This is your song. I mean, a song for you both… Yeah…"

"For once, I'd like to recieve an actual present and not a song. Why do we always give songs?" Feuilly whispered next to Bahorel and the drummer couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Shut up, you're gonna love it", Courfeyrac scolded, managing to sound offended.

"Okay, then. Here it goes…"

_All my friends, they’re different people_   
_Anxious like the ocean in a storm_   
_When we go out, yeah, we’re electric_   
_Coursing through our bodies ‘til we’re one_

_And why mess up a good thing, baby?_   
_It’s a risk to even fall in love_   
_So, when you give that look to me_   
_I better look back carefully_   
_‘Cause this is trouble, yeah this is trouble_

_I said ooh, ooh_   
_You got me in the mood, mood_   
_I’m scared_   
_But if my heart’s gonna break before the night will end_   
_I said, ooh, ooh we’re in danger_   
_Sleeping with a friend, sleeping with a friend_

Bahorel choked on the beer he was drinking when Grantaire sang the chorus. He was going to kill them with his bare hands, what were they thinking?! It wasn't a song for them, it was about them, about that kind of not-dating thing that was going on between them, that same thing Feuilly had avoided to talk about in front of his friends for months. Had they planned to ruin his life that day? Feuilly would certainly break up with him after this… Well, as much as he could break up with someone he wasn't really dating to begin with.

Instinctively, he turned his head to look at Feuilly, fearing the reaction of the man standing beside him. But instead of a death glare, he saw a quirked eyebrow and a smile on Feuilly’s face. He almost looked… pleased.

_We are both young, hot-blooded people_   
_We don’t wanna die alone_   
_Two become one, it could be lethal_   
_Sleeping with a friend_

_All my friends_   
_All my friends_   
_All my friends_   
_All my friends_

_I said ooh, ooh_   
_You got me in the mood, mood_   
_I’m scared_   
_But if my heart’s gonna break before the night will end_   
_I said, ooh, ooh we’re in danger_   
_Sleeping with a friend_

Once the song was over, the band purposely stopped playing, waiting for a reaction. Everyone was looking at Feuilly and Bahorel; some of them with expectant eyes, some other with a shameless smirk. Bahorel swallowed, trying to decide whether to kill them right there or wait for Feuilly to do it himself. When the other man didn't move a muscle besides the ones of the finger tapping against his chin, Bahorel breathed in deeply, ready to voice his disagreement.

"What the fuck-" he began, but was soon interrupted by Feuilly.

"I'll probably regret this later, but I take back what I said before; I liked the song. Is real good, thanks."

Bahorel wasn't sure who was more surprised, he or Courfeyrac, although the room at large was staring at Feuilly with their mouths hanging open. It wasn't until Bossuet's loud snort and Joly's explosive laughter cut off the silence that they stop staring, applauding to their friends when they started playing another song.

They remained standing next to each other in complete silence, unaware of the others around them. Feuilly's hand found his way up Bahorel's back, digging his fingers softly in the skin of his shoulder as he planted a wet kiss on Bahorel's jaw. The drummer stayed still for a second, not knowing what to do in such circumstances; Courfeyrac was smiling at them from the stage and Bahorel blushed like he'd never done it before. His surprise grew even more when Feuilly, instead of moving away as he always did, pulled Bahorel into a tight hug, nuzzling at his neck.

Bahorel's breath hitched instantly and he felt ridiculous for the butterflies inside his stomach; he hesitantly wrapped an arm around Feuilly and blurted in his ear, "I'm so, so sorry for-"

He felt rather than seeing Feuilly's frown. "Don't fucking ruin the moment, you asshole," he said, throwing a small punch against his shoulder.

Bahorel laughed, taking Feuilly by the hand, and dragging him across the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Enjolras pulling Grantaire by the arm into Bahorel’s bedroom and then pushing him inside before closing the door behind them. “Well," he said to Feuilly, stopping their steps in the middle of the hallway. "I guess we both had the same idea."

 

***

 

Since Cosette and Marius had put a foot inside the apartment, Cosette hadn't taken her eyes off of the boy following Éponine around. He was about twelve years old, blond hair falling free over his ears and brown eyes that looked old for a boy his age. He watched everyone at the party a little wary, as if he didn't trust them; the only ones he actually talked to and was calmed around were Éponine and Combeferre.

The boy kept diverting his eyes towards Mojo with curiosity, anxiously biting on his thumbnail. The woman walked up to the dog, leaving Marius submerged in an animated talk with Joly, and knelt next to him, scratching behind his ear. She lifted her eyes and smiled at the boy, waving a hand to prompt him to come closer.

"Come here, he won't bite you."

The boy pulled a face as if the assumption that he could be scared of the dog were offensive. However, he came closer to her and stretched a hand to pet the dog. Mojo jerked his head up and the boy flinched.

"Let him sniff you," Cosette instructed. "He's friendly."

The boy stretched his hand again and let the dog tap his nose against his fingers. Mojo licked his hand and the boy scratched his neck.

"What's his name?" he asked, suppressing his smile.

"Mojo," Cosette answered. "Who're you?"

"Gavroche."

"I'm Cosette, nice to meet you." After the boy nodded as an answer, Cosette caught Éponine watching them. She looked nervous and the blonde knew they needed to talk. "Can you keep him company for me?" she told the boy. He nodded again, and Cosette stood up.

Éponine tried to avoid her, but there weren't enough people in the apartment to get lost between them; Cosette followed her inside the kitchen, cornering her against a table. "So..." she began, taking a plastic fork from the table and rolling it between her fingers. "Who's that boy and why is he here?"

"He's, uh... he's working for me. In my house." Cosette cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, he's just... helping."

"Éponine..."

The woman looked around; there was no one else in the small kitchen but them. Her dark eyes peered inside the living room where Gavroche was now laying on the floor with his head resting over Mojo's belly, mumbling something under his breath for the dog's ears only. Éponine looked back at Cosette and sighed loudly.

"Okay, listen. I need you to keep your mind open because this' going to sound ridiculous."

"Yeah, okay. Go ahead."

"That kid out there's... my brother."

"Your brother," the blonde repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Like... an eighty percent sure."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, until the blonde spoke again. "But how...?"

"My dad. The jerk got a girl pregnant."

"Oh..."

Cosette wasn't surprised by that. When she was little, he'd seen Éponine's dad in a couple of times; he was indeed a jerk and treated his own daughter poorly. But what Éponine's was telling her inside that kitchen was beyond awful. The man hadn't only abandoned Gavroche, he'd sold him, as if he was a thing and not a baby. It had been by chance that Éponine even got to meet him, the blonde understood why this was so important for her friend.

"And... There's something else." Éponine said, peeling off the paint of the old table. "I think there's also a girl, somewhere. Tholomyès mentioned my dad paid the woman to go away."

"Oh god... You're not planing on finding her, too, are you?" Éponine smiled shyly and Cosette covered her mouth in surprise. "Are you serious?! How?!"

"I have some of dad's old papers in a warehouse. If it's true he paid her, I might be able to find a register or something about the mother."

Cosette worried at her lower lip. It was unbelievable and dangerous. A rabbit hole that would take Éponine nowhere; if she did find her sister and she somehow rejected her, the consequences would be terrible. But if she didn't do it, she'd live the rest of her life thinking about that sister she was sure she had. Cosette locked eyes with her friend, surprised that she was even considering what was about to say.

"Well... I'll be there tomorrow morning, then."

"... Where?" Éponine asked, confused.

"At your apartment, of course. I'll go with you to that warehouse."

"Seriously?"

After the blonde nodded her answer, Éponine threw her arms around her neck, enveloping her in a tight embrace. Éponine had done everything on her own since she was a child and, after her father ran away, she'd been completely alone. Having Musichetta and the boys around was a new experience for her as much as it was for Cosette; they'd been outsiders their entire lives, they knew how the other felt.

The bang of a door interrupted their hug and they walked to the hallway, where the sound had come from. Bossuet turned down the volume of the music right in time to hear Enjolras' yelling. “We're not done talking, come back here!” he was saying, following Grantaire out of Bahorel’s bedroom.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, I don’t care. I’m done with this shit," Grantaire grunted, knocking down a bottle from one of the tables in an attempt to release some of his anger.

He strode to the front door, avoiding his friends’ eyes, and walked out of the apartment. Enjolras was standing in the bedroom entrance, eyes fixed on the spot where Grantaire’s head had been seconds ago, mouth slightly open. "I'll go after him," Musichetta said, standing up from the couch. Jehan stopped her by the arm when she walked next to him and whispered something, then let her continue her way.

No one said a word after that, trying to process what they'd seen. Combeferre approached the blond and asked: "What was that? What happened?"

Enjolras turned to face him; he looked lost and confused. The silence stretched between them, just waiting. After a minute, Enjolras finally said:

"He... He broke up with me…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan told them the whole story, from the first time he and Grantaire saw Claquesous to the encounter at the library. Courfeyrac noticed too late that his mouth was slightly open, a shudder running down his back as he imagined the fear Jehan must have been feeling. Bahorel wasn't any better; his eyes were impossible wide, mouth pressed shut in a thin line and hands in tight fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost 1090 hits? Wow, thank you so much, guys! I wasn't sure you wanted to continue reading this after the long absence, but I'm glad you're still here :D
> 
> On a side note, I split this chapter in two so to keep consistency with the rest of the fic (it was around 6k words when I finished it and my average word count is 2k-3k). Both are already published, I didn't want to make you wait. Enjoy!

**March 12**

 

When the alarm went off early on Wednesday morning, Grantaire felt the body resting next to him stirring on the mattress as Enjolras gained consciousness. The blond bent over him, stretching an arm to stop the annoying sound, and then laid a small kiss on Grantaire's shoulder before getting up the bed. Grantaire resisted the urge to cringe at the contact, but as soon as he heard Enjolras closing the bathroom door, he buried his face between the pillows, squeezing his eyes shut; Enjolras' lips were hot, way too hot, and it felt like they'd burned Grantaire's skin beyond repair.

 

 

He heard Enjolras walking barefoot back into the bedroom and then as he opened the closet drawers. It wasn't loud, but somehow the noise still managed to bother Grantaire, till the point where he was practically biting his tongue to stop himself from snarling at the blond. He'd barely slept since he came back to Enjolras' apartment two days ago and his whole body ached; he just wanted to stay in bed for an entire year.

"Wake up." Enjolras said cheerfully, throwing something over Grantaire's head. A t-shirt, he discovered once he finally sat up on the bed, ruffling his hair even more in the process. He had a strong headache and the sun coming in through the open curtains wasn't helping; why was the world so damn bright. "Come on, we have so much to do before the party," Enjolras continued, his voice muffled under the shirt he was putting on. "And I still need to call Armando about tomorrow."

Grantaire flopped down on the bed again; it was too early for that.

As always -at least in Grantaire's experience-, when Enjolras said 'we' he really meant 'he'.  _He_  had so much to do, starting with his meeting at Red&Black Records to talk with Valjean about a thing or another regarding their new album. Grantaire was supposed to come along, but he didn't feel like being near Enjolras for that long; instead, he said he'd stay at home to work on his own songs. They'd announced new material was coming that year, it'd been a long time since their last studio album, but they had nothing so far and Éponine and Valjean were losing their minds. So Grantaire would stay at home and maybe record a demo or something.

It took him less than two hours to give up entirely and go back to bed. His head was killing him, he felt tired and unable to concentrate; it was pointless to keep trying. When Enjolras came back to the apartment around three in the afternoon, he pretended he was sleeping, even though the only thing he'd been doing until then was staring up at the ceiling. He heard the blond sighing disapprovingly before leaving the room.

Enjolras' tired steps came from the hallway when it was starting to get dark outside and then Grantaire felt the mattress sinking under the blond's weight.

"I know you're awake. Get up, we have to go soon."

"You go if you're so damn eager," he snapped, unable to stop himself.

"Grantaire, you promised Courfeyrac you'd be there, remember?"

"Why do you care?"

"It's a promise. Get up already."

Grunting, Grantaire threw the sheets off of him and sat up, glaring at Enjolras, then rubbed his hands over his face and went to the bathroom. Enjolras was still frowning when he walked back in with a towel around his waist; he turned his back at him, before the blond could scold him again.

They headed to Bahorel's apartment, arguing the entire way there because Grantaire seemed unable to stop himself from making Enjolras' life a nightmare, and pretended everything was fine in front of their friends. It worked pretty well for a while, mostly because they avoided each other as much as they could, but, minutes before he had to play with Courfeyrac and the others, Enjolras approached him and stood next to him on the kitchen bar. Grantaire breathed in deeply.

"I think we'll have to leave a little early." Enjolras said, biting on the slice of pizza he had in his hands.

"We were late and now you want to go early. Ain't you a party pooper?"

"It's a big day tomorrow, 'Aire. I don't want to get there with bloodshot eyes and a hungover." Grantaire rolled his eyes but didn't object. "Besides, it wasn't my fault we were late, was it?"

"Sure, Enjolras, it's never your fault, we all know that," he whispered more to himself, walking away when he heard Courfeyrac and Jehan calling his name.

When he joined his friends, he didn't stop glaring at Enjolras. He was furious. He was hurt that Enjolras didn't take the time to check if he was fine, that he acted like nothing had happened. But mostly, he was furious at himself for letting  _this_  happen. He knew he shouldn't ask him for this, but he wanted Enjolras to choose him, wanted to be important enough for the blond to forget about Armando... He wasn't, and he hated himself for believing he was, even for the briefest moment.

He got down the stage and Enjolras immediately took his arm, dragging him into Bahorel's bedroom and closing the door behind them.

"Can you please make up your mind already?" Enjolras said, letting him go and folding his arms over his chest. "I thought we were fine. You blow me one day and the next you're acting all strange, what the hell it's happening here?"

"What, aren't you having fun? Because that's what you've been doing to me for two fucking years. And I take it because I love you, but this is just too much, Enjolras."

Enjolras stared at him, agape. "What the- That's ridiculous, where the fuck did you get that from?"

"I'm never enough for you, am I?" Grantaire asked back, voicing what everyone else knew already; even the fans knew it, for fuck's sake, it was time to face it. "I've been shifting myself around you, trying to be who you wanted me to be, and I'm just sick of it. This is fucked up, man. You want to be with him? Fine, go get him. I've had enough of this shit."

"Who are you even talking about?"

"Armando! Who else could it be? You literally won't shut up about him, no matter how much I show you that I don't care."

Enjolras let out a tired breath, rubbing his hands over his face before waving one in front of him in total frustration. "Could you please stop that for a second and just listen to me? I explained it to you, you're just being stubborn and difficult at this point."

"Is that so?" Grantaire stepped closer until his nose was inches apart from Enjolras'. The look on the blond's eyes wasn't exactly fear, but it was close, and a voice in the back of Grantaire's mind said that maybe he thought he'd hit him. That much he didn't know him. "Then torture me, I've been a bad boy," he whispered in Enjolras' personal space. "Nail me to the cross and tell me you've won..." he snorted, walking away of Enjolras as he murmured under his breath "I lost before I did any wrong."

Enjolras swallowed, breathing evenly through the nose. "Why are you doing this?"

He didn't know anymore. He'd intended to talk to him civilly, but somewhere along the way the discussion had gotten out of his hands. Enjolras didn't deserve it, but Grantaire just wanted to  _hurt him_  somehow. He was lost inside himself and was dragging Enjolras down as well. "This is your liberation card," he said before striding towards the door. "I'm freeing you from the nightmare that is living with me, isn't that awesome? This is finally over, thank God!"

"Grantaire, that’s not-"

"Oh, oh!" Grantaire gasped, coming back over his steps, letting his hand fall on Enjolras' shoulder. "We won't let this get in the way of our... agreement, right?" he asked mockingly, pointing between them. "You can always call me whenever you're in the mood for a quickie, since sucking your cock is the only thing I'm really good at."

"What?" Enjolras asked, astonished and... hurt? When Grantaire didn’t answer and instead went for the doorknob, he followed him outside the bedroom. "We're not done talking, come back here!”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, I don't care. I'm done with this shit.“

He walked pass his friends and through the front door. He heard Musichetta calling his name and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting for her. She caught up with him and took his arm to guide him down the street. "Jehan said to take you to your apartment," she mentioned, stopping a cab.

"No," he rasped. "I don't want to be there."

"Okay... Let's go to mine, then."

He wanted to go back inside Bahorel's apartment, apologize and beg for forgiveness, but he couldn't make his feet to follow his orders. Instead, he got in the cab with Musichetta and spent the rest of the night with her in her house until Bossuet and Joly got home.

Neither of them asked what had happened and, a few hours before the dawn, Grantaire decided to lay down on the couch and pretend he was sleeping while his friends disappeared behind the door that lead to their bedroom.

He couldn't believe he'd broken up with Enjolras, it had to be a bad dream. He'd ruined one of the few things that mattered in his life.

 

***

 

**March 13**

 

Courfeyrac had been alone all his life. Not alone in the strict sense of the word - he had plenty of friends, lots of amazing fans and, sometimes, he even talked to his family. So no, he was alone in the sense that he'd just turned 32 years old and had never, ever dated in his entire life.

He never felt interested in it. He respected that everyone else did, but it simply wasn't his thing. He'd gotten in some trouble because of it, of course. He'd been called names, he'd been judged by sexual partners, he'd been suspected of being gay by his family - he wasn't, but the fact that he openly talked of all the men he’d fucked probably didn't help his case. Truth be told, he'd decided from an early age he didn't care what people thought of him; he never correct them, simply shrugged off the question and walked away. He enjoyed his life as it was and that was what mattered.

The thing was Courfeyrac had been sleeping with Jehan for a few months now and, since that day the young man showed up at his apartment, he hadn't shared a bed with anyone that wasn't him. It was the closest he'd ever had to a formal relationship, something like a established sexual partner, if he had to put it a name. But since late February, he'd spent practically every day with Jehan. He wasn't used to be around a single person and it was a bit unnerving and... odd, but before he had a chance to talk to Jehan about it, things collapsed around them.

Courfeyrac had taken Jehan to his apartment after the party, expecting to find Grantaire and Musichetta there. The place was empty and Courfeyrac had to snatch the phone out of Jehan's hands when they wouldn't stop shaking, making it impossible for him to call their friends. After Joly assured them Grantaire was safe and sound with them, they tried to catch some sleep.

The drummer was currently lying on the couch with Jehan's head resting over his shoulder and a protective arm around the smaller man. They were in silence, staring at the tv but neither of them attempted to turn it on. They were still taken aback for the previous night events; it was kind of a big deal and none of them were sure of what exactly had happened, since neither Grantaire nor Enjolras had said a word about it. However, Courfeyrac was sure the state Jehan was currently in - jumpy and wary, even a bit clingy - had more to do with whatever had happened at the library a few days ago than with their friends' breakup. They hadn't talked about that either; Courfeyrac was in some sort of limbo: not really out of the drama but completely oblivious of what was really going on.

Someone knocked on the door and Jehan immediately grabbed Courfeyrac's hand in a tight grip. "It's okay," he murmured, kissing his temple. "I'll go."

"Yeah, sorry."

Courfeyrac opened the door to, much to his surprise, let Bahorel in. "Hey, guys" the newcomer greeted, looking fresh and beautiful, even though he must certainly have had a headache when he woke up.

"What are you doing here?" Courfeyrac asked, a bit jealous that Bahorel looked like an underwear model while he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was completely untamed.

"I could ask you the same," he answered with a smirk that Courfeyrac decided to ignore. "I came to see Jehan."

Jehan poked his head through the entrance of the living room, furrowing his eyebrows at seeing Bahorel. Courfeyrac made coffee for the three of them and, when he walked back in, he felt a heavy tension between Bahorel and Jehan. "Did I miss something?" he asked, handing the mugs.

"Okay, spit it out." Bahorel demanded, sitting face to face with Jehan, while Courf occupied the spot next to the younger man. "What's going on and why you look so scared all the time?"

Jehan laughed around his mug, nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I know you, you can't fool me. Something happened, what was it?"

"It's... it' nothing. I'll fix this."

"Dude, we're bros," Bahorel said, his tone softer as he squeezed Jehan knee. "Up and down the stage, we're gonna help you."

Jehan rubbed the back of his neck, unsure. Courfeyrac had spent enough time with him to know he wasn't sure of what was about to do, but evidently what was hiding was really bad... Had he done something? Jehan lifted his eyes, looking from one to another, and finally let out a tired sigh; he was going to talk, even when he didn't want to.

"Remember... last year, a guy from Patron Minette ran away from prison, remember?"

"Yes!" Courf interjected before he could hide his excitement. "Dude's fucked up."

"You don't even know..."

"Well?" Bahorel insisted. "What about him?"

"He's... he's after me."

Jehan told them the whole story, from the first time he and Grantaire saw Claquesous to the encounter at the library. Courfeyrac noticed too late that his mouth was slightly open, a shudder running down his back as he imagined the fear Jehan must have been feeling. Bahorel wasn't any better; his eyes were impossible wide, mouth pressed shut in a thin line and hands in tight fists.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Just you."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Jehan looked down at the floor, ashamed. Bahorel had stood up and was yelling in shock. "Why didn't you tell us?! This is... Fuck, this is huge."

"Do you think I don't know that? I didn't want you guys to get involved. If this leaks out to the press, they're gonna eat us alive. I wanted to take the blame for it. Alone", he stressed the last word to make his point clear.

Jehan was right, of course. Even if it wasn't their fault, people in the press wouldn't stop to take advantage of the story. Courfeyrac was surprised that no one had found out yet. But, if he were a criminal on the run trying to blackmail a celebrity, he wouldn't want the papers publishing his mug shot. Keeping a low profile was crucial.

"Well, there's no way out now... Does Grantaire know about it?"

Jehan shook his head, pressing the mug against his chest. "He has enough trouble with Enjolras now."

Courfeyrac had to suppress a grunt. He'd forgotten about it and yes, it was bad, but still Grantaire needed to know about this; Jehan's life was at risk.

"How much does he want?"

"I- I don't know, he said we'd be in touch but... he hasn't contacted me."

As if summoned, the phone rang in the kitchen. They stayed in silence for a few seconds, before Bahorel patted Jehan's back affectionately. "Go get the phone. We're here with you, okay? You'll be fine."

Jehan bit his lips but nodded slowly. He walked to his bedroom and disappeared behind the door, leaving Bahorel and Courfeyrac in the living room. They stayed in silence for a second, until Bahorel leaned forward and whispered: "Did you know anything about this?"

"No... Well, I picked him up at the library after he..." he trailed off, waving a hand vaguely. "But he refused to tell what'd happened." Bahorel nodded, twisting his fingers. "Dude, what are we gonna do?! We can't call the police, we can't tell anyone! We're fucked."

"Not yet..." Bahorel said, straightening up as he watched Jehan coming back no long after with the phone pressed against his ear.

 _It’s him_ , Jehan mouthed, pointing at the phone before he sat back down next to Courf, taking one of his hands and squeezing it hard. His palm was sweaty and his tight grip was hurting Courfeyrac's fingers.

"No, I'm alone" the young man assured, keeping his eyes on Courf all the time. Bahorel stood up carefully, approaching the couch they were sharing, and rested a leg on the armrest; he leaned a hand on Jehan's shoulder. "I can't... Five days? That's impossi- He hung up..."

"Five days to what?" Courfeyrac asked, taking the phone away from Jehan's hand and staring at it. "Five days to give him the money?" Jehan nodded. "How much?"

"Three million. In cash."

"We... we'll figure something out, okay? It'll be fine..."

Courfeyrac was desperate to believe it himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Tell me what you think of this so far? Please, that'd be great.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire had broken up with him the day before and Enjolras had let him do it. That meant loads of things. It meant no more silly messages and sung voicemails. No more Mexican food on Friday nights, no more stupid games and money jars. No more snuggling and hand holding that he enjoyed so much, even when he never said it at loud... He stared down at the name on his iPhone's screen. He had to change that, too, he had to change a lot of things in his life. He went to his contact list and edited Grantaire's, erasing the word he currently had him with and typing his full name instead; not 'R', either, only his friends called him that. It looked weird, wrong, but he had to start somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a day, awesome, uh?. Someone makes an special appearance in this one :D

Éponine parked outside Cosette's house and adjusted her backpack before knocking on the door. The blonde had sent her a message early that morning asking her to come to her house instead, since she had a few things to take care of before going with her to the warehouse. It was the first time Éponine visited her in her new house after they came back of their honeymoon; she'd helped a bit with the moving but hadn't stayed around to see the house all settled up and neat.

Marius opened the door for her, smiling sheepishly and looking paler than he usually did. "Are you okay?" she asked with a snort as he wrapped her in a loose hug.

"Cosette's dad's here" he whispered.

She made a small 'o' with her mouth in acknowledgement, noting in the back of her head how adorable it was that Marius had stopped calling Valjean for his name since he'd married his daughter.

"I see. Is Cosette around? We have... some things to do."

"You won't let me here alone with him, will you?"

"Come on! He's been softer with you lately!"

"Have I? I need to correct that then."

Both Éponine and Marius turned around to face Valjean, who was now standing at the door that conducted to the kitchen. Marius gulped, but Éponine could see Valjean was joking. He seemed to enjoy torturing his son in law and she really couldn't blame him for it; it was kinda funny.

"Can I have a word with you, Éponine?" Valjean added, patting Marius shoulder as he approached her. "It won't take long, I promise."

"Uhm, sure, I guess."

She followed him into the living room, waving faintly at the blonde woman that had come down the stairs the moment they began walking. Cosette nodded before winking an eye at her and then took Marius' hand to led him back into the kitchen. Valjean sat on the armchair with a heavy sigh and pointed at the nearby couch for Éponine to seat next to him. She complied, trying not to get too comfortable; she did have things to do.

"So, is this about the crisis going on with Enjolras and Grantaire?" she asked. "I swear I'm doing everything in my hands to prevent the news to leak out, but they will find out sooner or later, you know the fans love them."

Valjean shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable as he laced his hands together over his lap. "No, it's not about that. Though, I'd like to talk to you and Musichetta later on to see how we'll handle this."

"What is it about then? If you don't mind me asking."

"It's about your father and that boy you sneaked into the party yesterday."

_Shit._

She didn’t like where this was going.

She looked behind her briefly, as if by that she could magically see the boy sleeping in her couch miles away, still wearing Combeferre's socks every night because it was the only way he felt at peace during the midnight hours. The boy left every morning to go see Tholomyès and give him some money, money that Éponine practically had forced him to accept because he no longer wanted to take it from her. She needed to figure out a way to get Gavroche out of that world, she couldn't stand seeing the bruises the kid wore on his skin every time he came back to her apartment.

"Re- really? What about them?" she asked, faking a smile.

Valjean didn't say a word for a long while, instead taking a framed picture that was on the side table between the armchair and the couch. He looked at it intently for a second or two and then handed it to Éponine, tapping his finger over a section of the picture. It a photo they'd taken at the end of the tour two years ago; at the spot that Valjean had pointed out, were she and Cosette, standing next to each other, holding hands. Éponine looked up, completely lost at what the man was trying to communicate.

"I remember the first time I saw you," he said, smiling faintly. "You were ten, walking behind your father and looking around you with determination, even though I'm sure you were dead scared of being there."

Éponine nodded. She didn't remember Valjean back then, but she remembered being scared. Of the unfamiliar faces, the noise inside the building, her father's disappointment when she didn't learn the lesson. She decided to keep all that to herself, Valjean didn't need to know it.

"I despised Thenardier," he continued after a small pause. "He was a criminal, a shameless swindler. I avoided making businesses with him at all cost, but then I saw you and tried to keep an eye on him, just in case."

"Was then when you decided to bring Cosette to your office?"

"I thought you needed a friend," he nodded. "I only took her when I knew you'd be there. She needed someone else to talk to that wasn't me, anyway. Who'd better than you?"

"What's this really all about, Valjean? I mean, yeah, my childhood wasn't a fairytale but that was years ago. What does this has to do with Gavroche?"

"Cosette told me you thought he was your brother."

And there it was. She wasn't surprised Cosette had told him, a part of her actually had expected it - hence she never stressed the fact that it was kind of a secret. But then again, what was Valjean trying to achieve with the entire fatherly-like atmosphere? He probably knew about the lost sister as well, was he trying to talk her out of it?

"You're the reason I agreed on taking Cosette to the tour with us," Valjean said, unaware of her inner monologue. "She's a grown up woman, but I wanted her to be around you, to... learn a thing or two from you. I've always been proud of you and how far you've come, Éponine." She felt a blush reaching her face, but it disappeared when she heard Valjean's next words. "But I also think you're unnecessarily stubborn and have a guilt complex that'll get you in trouble."

"Uh, wow, what?"

"This that you're doing or planning to do... Just make sure it's for the right reasons, okay? I know I can't stop you and won't even try, but slow down a bit and think about what this means."

She knew exactly why she was doing all this and what it meant, it wasn't a guilt complex. Guilt for what anyway? She was doing what was best for Gavroche and she'll do the same for her sister, if she thought it was necessary. But she appreciated Valjean's words either way and respected him enough to grant him with a small nod, even when she didn't completely agree with what he was saying.

"I'll be careful, I promise."

"That's all I ask."

"... Did you really think I was a good role model for your daughter?" she couldn't help but ask, causing a soft laugh to escape from the old man's mouth.

"I, yeah, I still do... But it's a shame your taste in men hadn't rubbed off on her as well."

It was Éponine's turn to laugh openly at that. "Marius isn't that bad, is he?"

"No... He's a good boy."

 

***

 

Enjolras entered the small cafeteria adjusting the black beanie as he smiled absentmindedly at the people on the front. He was plying the night before, his fight with Grantaire, over and over inside his head in an attempt to figure out what had gone wrong. They were okay days before that, there must've been something Enjolras had missed. And yes, he realized he'd been a dick but sometimes it was hard to fight against Grantaire's insecurities; he didn't know how to be with him anymore and it was killing him not knowing what to do...

He sat at the back where he could have a full view of the cafeteria, waiting. He'd thought of cancelling his meeting with Armando, but it was late when he arrived home after Feuilly's party and he didn’t want to tell him with so little notice. He knew he had a busy schedule, he didn’t want to waste his time. As he waited for the man to show up, he glanced around him. There was a small group of teenagers sitting close to him, around five or six chatting cheerfully and eating french fries. The one closer to Enjolras burst out laughing and he flinched, surprised. He needed to distract himself from the war going on inside his head, he needed to stop thinking about Grantaire's words and how they'd hurt him more than he'd shown. He knew it was wrong, but couldn’t really stop himself from listening to the teenagers when a familiar name came into the conversation.

" _Carpe Diem_? You gotta be kidding me. They totally stole  _Sassafras Roots_ ’ style. They haven’t even written a decent song in their lives," said one of the boys in a tone that implied his opinion was the only one that mattered.

“I thought you liked  _Coming Clean_ ," said another voice.

"That’s  _Sassafras Roots_ ’, honey."

Enjolras frowned; sadly, it wasn't the first time he'd heard something like that. They'd been around for quite some time now and it was common that people knew some of their songs without knowing  _them_. It was also kind of frequent that some new bands covered his songs - he'd heard  _Sassafras Roots_ ' cover of the song the teenagers were talking about - and people sometimes like them better. Enjolras usually didn’t mind; their fans did enough to correct those people and he had to admit some of the arrangements were better than what he'd written, but right now he wasn't in the mood to letting it slip that easily. He was turning around, ready to protest to that statement, when one of the teen’s friends spoke.

"No, it’s not, _honey_ ," the teen said, snarling the last word. "They did a cover."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Enjolras saw the boy blushing as the rest of his friends started laughing. He smiled to himself, too, pulling out his cellphone and typing a quick text:

> _**To:**  mnnesotaboy  
>  Five bucks to the jar. This time you wrote Coming Clean._

But then he remembered.

Grantaire had broken up with him the day before and Enjolras had let him do it. That meant loads of things. It meant no more silly messages and sung voicemails. No more Mexican food on Friday nights, no more stupid games and money jars. No more snuggling and hand holding that he enjoyed so much, even when he never said it at loud... He stared down at the name on his iPhone's screen. He had to change that, too, he had to change a lot of things in his life. He went to his contact list and edited Grantaire's, erasing the word he currently had him with and typing his full name instead; not 'R', either, only his friends called him that. It looked weird,  _wrong_ , but he had to start somewhere.

The bell of the door rang announcing a new customer and Enjolras lifted his head, suddenly remembering why he was there. The man that had entered stood at the door, scanning the place; it wasn't until he looked directly at Enjolras that the blond could see his face, his stomach giving a leap at seeing those smiling eyes again. It was him, it was Armando walking up to him and opening his arms to hug him once he was close enough. It was Armando after almost fifteen years of absence.

"Oh boy, it's really you," Armando said into his ear, tightening the embrace. "I can't believe it's really you. You haven't changed a bit in all these years, how do you do it?!"

"I could say the same to you", he exclaimed after they sat down at the table.

They ordered coffee - the same type of coffee, that was weird - and made small talk until the waitress came back with two steamy mugs. She placed the coffee in front of Enjolras, eyed briefly between him and Armando, and then threw a poisonous glared at Enjolras, as if he'd offended her. She huffed and walked away; Enjolras felt a shudder running down his spine.

"How 'bout that..." Armando mumbled, following the waitress with his eyes. "Anyway, how you've been, man? It's so nice to see you again," he added, going back to Enjolras, sipping at his coffee.

Enjolras tried his, too, before answering, making a grimace after scalding his tongue. He was gaining some time; he wasn't fine, as he had been about to say seconds earlier, but he didn't want to overwhelm Armando with his problems. He'd come there to see him, not to whine about his problems with Grantaire. He didn't want to lie, either, but Armando was watching him with a cocked eyebrow, waiting for him to say something, so he shrugged dismissively: "I'm okay, you know?"

"Yeah? What have you been up to these days? How's the band?" Armando asked with a glint in his eyes, smiling widely.

Music, he could talk about that, he loved to talk about that. "They're great. After you left, we made some major changes."

He went on and on about what they'd done since the last time Armando played with him and Combeferre. He talked about Courf, about Valjean, Feuilly, and Marius, but when he got to the _99 Revolutions_ fiasco and the tour that'd saved their asses, he hesitated. He wasn't sure how much he could say without bringing Grantaire to the conversation, even though he was well aware that he couldn't avoid it forever.

"And this band... _Sassafras Roots_ , they... They gave us the idea to open our own label. They were the first to sign up with us and we've been working on it together with the music."

"Oh, Lord... I missed quite a lot, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid," Enjolras snorted fondly. "How about you? How was college?" he asked, mockingly.

"A total nightmare. But I don't regret a second of it and I’m a psychologist now. I know, don't look at me like that!" he ordered after he caught Enjolras trying to hide his amusement. "It's a bit boring. But I help people like this, so, it’s not that bad. And... That's about it, really. It's nothing compared with what you've done."

Armando rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed of the simplicity of his life, but Enjolras disagreed. He wouldn't trade his life for anything, but Armando had what he hadn't: calm and privacy. Enjolras had always insisted in keeping his personal life away from the press, but it was impossible to avoid the gossip completely. Armando had that. He had stability; he looked happy and untroubled, Enjolras was a little jealous.

"I think it's great. You did what you wanted, what was... important to you, that's what matters."

"Yeah. Let me tell you, I don't regret any of it. I'll do it again. But, you know, maybe after our big hit."

They share a laugh and Enjolras felt more comfortable with the whole thing. Neither of them said it, but they knew they'd amended old resentments in that little talk. Armando had done what he was supposed to, what he needed and, even when had taken Enjolras longer than it should've to understand it, he was really happy he'd made his own path, regardless of what that had meant for the band at the moment.

"I never got married, though," Armando added, sipping at his coffee. "But it's okay. I mean, it was never my goal, you know? How about you? I heard you were dating that guy... I forgot his name, but he was the one touring with you a while ago, right?"

Enjolras froze. He wasn't at all ready to talk about him... "How do you know? You didn’t happen to be in one of those concerts, did you?" he asked, trying to divert the conversation to a safer place.

"You’re in the spotlight, my friend! But no, sadly I missed them. Work and stuff... But what's his name again?"

 _Dammit_. "Grantaire."

"Grantaire! Right... Been together since?"

"Uhm, yeah, kind of… We're not... together right now."

"Oh, shit... I'm so sorry to hear that." Enjolras shrugged, avoiding the awkward silence by drinking his coffee. Armando bit his lip. "I don't mean to be intrusive but what happened?"

"I'm not sure..." There was no way out of this; of all people he thought he'd discuss this with, Armando wasn't even in the list. But he was there, sitting across from him, looking genuinely worried. It was probably the better he'd get. "We had a fight and... I don't know, he's been weird lately."

"Did you talk to him?" Enjolras shook his head. "Why not?"

"I'm respecting his boundaries." Armando smiled knowingly and that make Enjolras feel he had to explain further. "He was really mad when we fought, he needs time to cool down."

"I'm sure there's a good reason for it."

What did that mean? Was Armando blaming Enjolras? He wasn't even there! "You don’t even know him. Don’t know me for that matter…"

"I don’t, that's true. But I know a thing or two about human behavior. I'm sure you just need to talk this out."

"I don't think he wants to talk to me again if he finds out I came to see you..." Enjolras mumbled, hoping Armando hadn't caught what he'd said. It wasn't his lucky day.

"What? You didn’t fight because...? What are we really doing here, Enjolras?"

The blond look at those brown eyes. Armando wasn't angry, he was concerned. Enjolras had to be honest, even if it hard and embarrassing to say the truth. "I... I don't know. I wanted to see you. I- At first I kept wondering… what would you say if you saw me on stage, if you’d approve on whom I’d become… and all of the sudden it was just like you were a recurring dream I had from time to time. I... needed to know you... were still there."

"Did something change?" Armando asked, after a pause.

"What?"

"Did something change now that you talked to me?"

Enjolras lowered his head again.

He wasn't sure, to be honest. He'd never felt so lost in his life and that was saying something. He wanted to be with Grantaire, but maybe he wasn't the man for him. Maybe they were better off apart. He'd barely saw Armando for an hour or so, it was too soon... But he liked it. It was simple, it was  _easy_. Maybe... Maybe Grantaire was right. Maybe everybody else was right and what he felt was really... Wasn't what he'd first thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw a post once that said they thought green day's cover of 5sos' song american idiot was okay and I just...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was walking to his apartment early in the morning when something caught his eye a block before reaching his destination. A small group of paparazzi was gathered outside the building, definitely waiting for someone -- him, most likely. Presumably, neither of them had noticed his presence and, taking advantage of this fact, Enjolras decided to turn around and walk back over his steps, at least until he knew what they wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So a big thank you to those who have left kudos and comments, and a quick shout out to the 18 people subscribed to this fic; you all keep me going, thank you so much!

"Did something change now that you talked to me?"

Enjolras lowered his head again.

"Well… I thought it'd feel… a little bit different."

Different from what, he was still trying to figure it out.

The day he saw him walking down the street and as he did his research to find him, he felt a childish excitement. It was similar to what he felt whenever they played one of their older songs and the audience cheered, singing back every verse. But as the date of their encounter approached and the problems with Grantaire worsened, he felt doubtful. Finally having Armando in front of him was weird in so many different ways; not really the life-changing experience he'd been expected but a lot better than his worst-case scenario.. Armando was a different man, that was for certain, that he didn't know a thing about.

Armando smiled, the same way he did when they were younger, and his eyes glinted with something similar to relief. "A bit different? How?"

Enjolras thought Armando had discovered something about him from the things he'd said and suddenly felt uneasy when he remembered what Armando did for a living. "... Are you analyzing me?" he asked, suspicious.

"No, of course not." Armando laughed. "I couldn't, even if I wanted anyway, you've always been hard to read. I'm pretty sure only Combeferre can tell what you're thinking." Enjolras nodded, still uncertain. "So, how different?" Armando insisted.

Enjolras sighed. He didn't know how to explain what was going on inside his head. And he was a bit worried of being misunderstood and the effect his words would have in the other man. He didn't want to scare him away. He wasn't sure that was a possibility but still, he didn't want to risk it.

"I..." he began, trying to find the words. "I thought... I don't know, I was wondering if maybe there was still something left of what we... what we were once." Armando shifted in his chair, leaning backwards. He seemed surprised, probably hadn't seen that coming. "I mean... Everyone else thinks that's why I looked for you and- Grantaire, he... he said... Maybe he's right..." The blond took a sip of his forgotten coffee to avoid eye contact. It was cold and it tasted weird in his mouth.

"Is it there?" Armando asked. "Is still something left?"

Enjolras remember the first time he saw Grantaire again two years ago. The moment he saw him walking through the door at Valjean's office, he felt his stomach leaping and his heart racing. He felt his hands twitching, trying to reach for him, and his legs moving a step forward to get closer. He compared it whit what he felt when he saw Armando. He was right there, sitting across from him, only an arm's length away, and he didn't had the slightest interest in touching him.

He was glad to see him, he'd missed him terribly, but... it was different. It was just catching up with an old friend, a former guide, someone whom he'd like to share his life with the same way he did it with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. With Grantaire however... It was something else. Maybe they'd indulged in a hurried flight, maybe they shouldn't have ever met.... But part of why he was so desperate to hear Armando's opinion on the matter, Enjolras discovered, was because he wanted a confirmation of something he'd known long ago.

He _loved_ Grantaire.

Enjolras had known the answer to his own question even before he'd formulated it. He, for once, had allowed himself to take the easy way but it had been the wrong moment to do so. And he'd made the same mistake twice; Grantaire had no reason to come back with him.

"... No" Enjolras admitted at least. "No, there's not."

Armando nodded, patting his arm as a reward for giving the right answer. "Sorry," he said, retrieving his hand, awkwardly. "A job's bad habit." He smiled reassuringly and then continued. "You're an incredible man, Enj. I have to admit what happened years ago was my fault. I was a coward and I'm so sorry for that. And this, too, it's part of the problem."

"What you mean?"

"Well, I left and we never broke up, right? We never closed this circle and that was my mistake." He rolled the mug in his hands over the table, using his thumbs, and bit his lip. "But... But the truth is I didn't want to say goodbye and I didn't know how. You and Combeferre were very important to me and I didn't want to give up on you. I thought if I never said goodbye, it'd be as if I'd never left. Over the years I finally realized that part of my life was over, so I just left it to time to help you forget. Kinda shitty of my part, I admit it," he finished with a soft laugh.

"I forgot you but not the time," Enjolras added, feeling the need to pointing it out. "What would you call this, then? What is it?"

The man across from him sighed deeply, looking out of the window, deep in thought. Enjolras waited patiently; the adrenaline he'd gotten there with had already worn off, so he followed Armando's example, observing the people passing by outside the cafeteria.

"Nostalgia," Armando said, turning around to face him. "I think you miss what we were back then. Not us, but the band," he added, before Enjolras could protest. "You miss when we got paid in French fries and slept in everybody's floors and couches. You didn't miss me, only what I represent for you."

"It was easier then I guess..." They stay in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching out of the window, their half-empty mugs forgotten. "I looked up to you, you know?" Enjolras spoke softly. "I still do, but I never knew how else to show it. I may have mistaken what it really meant to be in love with someone."

Armando nodded again. "It was something unpredictable, but in the end was right... I hope you had the time of your life, Enjolras."

 

***

 

Cosette had never been one to hoard up. She'd moved a lot with her dad when she was a little girl, and thus had learned really quickly that it was easier the less she had to pack. It might be that the reason behind her uncommon passion for garage sales and History's _American Pickers_ ; she just loved to imagine herself exploring those old basements and junkyards, thinking of all the fascinating objects she could find there. So, when Éponine casually mentioned she had to go to a warehouse and look for her dad's past records, Cosette almost lost her cool jumping around like a toddler on a sugar rush; good luck Éponine had let her come along.

They parked outside the fence surrounding an extensive ground with hundreds of warehouses to rent. After the guard let them in, Éponine guided her to one of the bigger ones, unlocking the door and pushing Cosette inside with her.

Whatever Cosette was expecting when she crossed the doorway, it wasn't what she found inside. The warehouse was really tidy, divided in four sections (or piles of boxes, more accurately), all with a name written in a cardboard pasted on the wall. Cosette read the names -- Bahorel, Éponine, the Dynamic Duo and The (Un)holy Trinity. "Is this a communal warehouse?" she asked, suppressing a smile at the nerdiness of her friends.

"Ah, yeah," Éponine said, absentmindedly, approaching the boxes under her name. "When we move here, we underestimate the amount of junk we had so we rented this to put away what it didn't fit in our apartments."

"That's adorable. Do you mind if I look around just a bit?"

"No, no, go ahead. Enjoy yourself."

Cosette walked further into the warehouse, deciding which pile to examine first. Bahorel was the smallest: three boxes poorly sealed, an old drum set with a few parts missing, discarded clothes and other random items. The young woman peered inside of one of the boxes, but there was nothing that caught her attention so she moved to the next pile, the one that undoubtedly belonged to Grantaire and Jehan.

Theirs was a little bit bigger, although the majority of the boxes contained pictures and old notebooks. Cosette saw a few broken guitars, about six or seven, and took one that seemed familiar; it was an old Gibson Les Paul Junior, bright green and with the neck completely unattached from the body, the wood splinters coming out irregularly. She wondered why he hadn't gotten rid of any of them and made a mental note to ask him as soon as she could.

The pile under the cardboard labeled as The (Un)holy Trinity was  _immense_. Boxes everywhere, plastic bags and discarded furniture, including a disassembled crib. Cosette was looking through a photo album of the three of them when Éponine grunted behind her, pushing one of the boxes to the center of the room. The young woman put the photo album back and turned around to help her friend.

"Found them!" Éponine said cheerfully. "Okay, I have them all sorted by year, so it won't be hard to find. Tholomyès said she wasn't that much younger than I am, so I'm guessing between 1985 and 1990 it's a safe gap to start."

"Easy peasy," the blonde said, shaking her hands, ready to work.

"Okay, I'll do odds, you do pairs."

They sat down in front of Bahorel's pile in the middle of the room, surfing through notebooks, sheets of paper and old registers. Cosette was honestly impressed; she knew Éponine had taken all the clients her dad had left behind after he ran away, but there were some heavy stuff in those documents. Unusual transactions of money, not big enough to pay for someone's silence but coded as something the blonde was pretty sure it referred to either drugs or prostitutes, although, she decided not to ask.

After the first couple hours, when she was almost reaching July in the binder labeled as"1988", Cosette noticed something weird. She caught a last name she'd seen a few months back; it sounded oddly familiar but she couldn't remember why. At first, she didn't pay it any mind, it wasn’t the first time a name appeared more than once, but as the name repeated itself on the next six months without fail, she started to suspect. She decided something was definitely off when, somewhere in December, she found the last name again, this time linked to a different person

"Uh, 'Ponine?" she called, going back to March where she'd first seen it. "Are you in 1989 yet?" she asked, marking the page with a finger and lifting her eyes to look at her friend.

"Not yet, why? Did you find something?"

"Maybe. Take a look at this."

Cosette handed the binder to Éponine, pointing the name and explaining her suspicions. "Maybe she made him pay for the pregnancy, that'd be these months."

"And these when the girl was born..."

They followed the hint up to 1990, where the last name stopped to appear monthly. They found it again randomly in the next three years but after 1993, it disappeared altogether.

"This is weird... Do you think it's her?"

"Probably, I mean, the woman on March it's probably the mother. He had her like... You know..."

"A hooker."

"Yeah..."

Éponine looked back at the binder over her legs, frowning. "Azelma Jondrette... Where have I heard it? That name sounds familiar."

And then it hit Cosette.

"Oh my God, I know her!" She yelled, wrapping her fingers around Éponine's arm and squeezing. "I mean, _we_ know her. She has a show on the radio! She's kinda popular and everything. Actually... I'm pretty sure she interviewed Enjolras and Grantaire during the tour. I remember have listened to that."

"Oh, fuck… Yeah, I know who you’re talking about…What do I do now?"

"Arrange an appointment. What's the worst tha can happen?"

 

***

 

After his talk with Armando, Enjolras had been trying to come up with a decent explanation for Grantaire. He was well aware he needed to apologize and, even though it hadn't been entirely his fault, he'd caused all the chaos by being so secretive and shadowy; it hadn't been intentional, but still, he sort of understood his mistake now.

Armando had been really comprehensive and, the day before when Enjolras took him to the label to talk with Combeferre and meet the rest of the band, he was very friendly and responsive. They all were immensely surprised after Armando and Feuilly confessed they used to be really close friends when they were kids, until Feuilly had to abandon school to work and help his family.

"How come you never bothered to mention it?" Courfeyrac asked Feuilly with a cocked eyebrow.

"Well, I didn't know it was the same Armando..."

They talked for hours until Bossuet knocked on the door, looking for Valjean, and suddenly reminding them Armando had things to pack and a plane to take in a few hours. They said their goodbyes and Armando promised he'd come back to meet the rest of the guys -particularly Grantaire- as soon as he could. Now Enjolras was alone to face his problems.

He was walking to his apartment early in the morning when something caught his eye a block before reaching his destination. A small group of paparazzi was gathered outside the building, definitely waiting for someone -- him, most likely. Presumably, neither of them had noticed his presence and, taking advantage of this fact, Enjolras decided to turn around and walk back over his steps, at least until he knew what they wanted.

He turned on the next corner, rolling his eyes at the situation as he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, and followed the crowd down the street that lead to Combeferre's apartment. He stopped abruptly outside the window of a small cafeteria, widening his eyes in surprise as he saw the establishment's old TV. It was on a sensationalist show Enjolras had heard of a few times before, broadcasting what it look like a picture of him and "a mysterious man", as it read in the band running at the bottom of the screen. Enjolras knew it was Armando; someone had taken the picture while they were talking in the cafeteria the other day. This was the last thing he needed.

He changed his path again, this time towards  **Red &Black Records**, and fished his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing Valjean's number. He answered after the first tone and Enjolras wasn't surprised when the man growled in his ear. "Come to the office right now. I'm calling an urgent meeting."

He hung up without another word and Enjolras couldn't help but notice a certain edge in his voice. He was angry, that much was obvious, and Enjolras empathized with the feeling; Armando was none of their business, he was a private person, they were crossing a line.

 

He was the first one to arrive at the office and Valjean decided not to say a word until the rest of the guys were there. As Enjolras saw them crossing the door, the frown on his forehead deepened; he didn't think it was necessary that all of them were there, though he quickly changed his mind the moment he saw Grantaire walking behind Joly. He felt a lump in his throat and his stomach twisting after he realized it was the first time he saw Grantaire since Feuilly's party. It was a sort of déjà vu, one with which Enjolras wasn't comfortable; he'd fucked everything up. Again. He searched Grantaire's eyes but the man avoided him, acting detached and uncaring. Enjolras guessed it was stupid to expect anything different; it was kind of a miracle Grantaire had showed up at all.

"I bet you all already watched the news", Valjean spoke up, turning his laptop over the desk so they could see the picture they'd taken of Enjolras and Armando; the blond felt like a teenager that had been caught kissing a boy under bleachers of the football field, even though they were literally doing  _nothing_  other than talking. He observed Grantaire carefully a second time, waiting for a reaction, but he got none; the man in question barely frowned, which was, if possible, even more unnerving.

"Someone posted this picture sometime yesterday, claiming that they had irrefutable proof that you," he pointed at Enjolras and Grantaire, "had broken up."

This time, Grantaire did turn to Enjolras and they exchanged a quick look, but didn't dare to speak. It was true, after all, and while the person that had taken the picture blamed it on Armando, that didn't make any difference to the fact that Grantaire had decided they were better off apart. It would have happened either way.

"Now, while I agree that this is something that concerns exclusively to you two, and despite the fact that I'm honestly sorry you're going through this," Valjean assured, "I'm just going to ask you one thing." There was a pause in which everyone in the room held their breaths. Valjean was kind and caring of all of them in a way or another, but when shit needed to get done, he didn't blinked until he'd made his point clear. "Why didn't any of you notice this had leaked out and let the news spread around for an entire day without a word from us?"

The room fell into a uncomfortable silence, people shifting awkwardly in every corner like a bunch of misbehaved kids. Enjolras mentally scolded himself for being so careless; he should've known there would be someone trying to get advantage of the situation, he should've been more careful and watch his surroundings. Instead, he'd spent the entire morning trying to trick himself into believing that Grantaire's words hadn't hurt him and that the answer to all his questions was in Armando's face.

"Well... Sorry, man, we've been thinking of... other stuff", Courfeyrac ventured, throwing a quick glance at the unusually silent Jehan standing next to him.

Valjean ignored him, directing his attention to Éponine instead. "How is it possible neither you nor Musichetta had seen this? This is your job," he said, tiredly, not a real trace of reproach in his voice.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry..."

"Valjean, this is my fault, okay?" Musichetta interjected, placing a reassuring hand on Éponine's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I've been distracted. It won't happen again."

Valjean took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes a few times. He'd been standing behind his desk the entire time, and it was until then that, after he put the glasses back on, he sat down in his chair. "Okay, guys," he said, breaking the heavy silence. "I know you have personal things going on at the moment. All of you," his eyes focused on Éponine for a brief second. "But you need to stop doing all this behind my back.

We can work things out, but you ought to talk to me. We can wait another year for  _Sassafras Roots_ ' new record," he assured, looking at Grantaire. "And Enjolras, we already talked about this four days ago; you can't go forcing something if it's just not right. There's no point in releasing this album if you're not convinced of what you're doing, we can wait until you have things sorted out. This is a business, yeah, but this," he added, encompassing the entire room with a move of his hand. "This is our family and we need to take care of it, so I suggest you all get a grip and think of what you really need at the moment. When you have that clear, you come to me and talk, before any of this puts at risk our work, okay?"

"There's nothing to think about," Enjolras spoke without hesitation. "The album will be ready and out in September."

 

***

 

Valjean ended the meeting immediately after Enjolras' final words and asked  _Sassafras Roots_  to leave the office. They walked out in complete silence and Grantaire felt like throwing up, his head spinning around uncontrollably; he'd barely registered a word of what had happened after Valjean showed the picture of Enjolras and Armando. Truth was Grantaire actually didn't know why they were there at Valjean's office and had taken him by surprise to see them together on the laptop's screen. They looked good. Far too good, and it was something Grantaire didn't need to know.

"Okay, let's see how bad it is..." Éponine whispered, pulling out her tablet and walking towards her office.

The guys walked behind her, pressing buttons on their own devices, surfing the internet to evaluate the extent of the damage. Grantaire followed suit out of habit, but kept his cellphone away in his pocket. Jehan approached him, silently taking his arm and resting his head on Grantaire's shoulder as he guided him through the hallway. Grantaire patted the hand curled around his arm softly, thankful for the familiar pressure of Jehan's head and the comfortable silence between them.

Éponine's office was big with more couches and pillows that should be normal for a workspace. Anyone who'd seen Éponine working, however, knew the woman couldn't stay still in a chair for long periods of time and usually ended up spreaded out on the floor surrounded by pillows. That day, the big office turned into a base the moment Musichetta and every single one of the men took a place in the couches or a spot on the floor to resume their research.

"Oh, shit..." someone said under their breath and suddenly all the eyes were on Grantaire.

"Great, what now?"

Bahorel look at Éponine in a silent question. "I don't think it's a good idea," she said, firmly. "'Aire, why don't you go back to your apartment and-?"

"He's not a little kid, Éponine, he'll find out sooner or later. Better now that we're here."

Bahorel handed him his own cellphone where the Twitter app showed a research. The fans had created a new hashtag that made it easier to follow the whole drama:  **#EnjoltaireIsOver** ; Grantaire almost wanted to laugh hysterically at that. He scrolled down through it, quickly scanning the tweets. Most of them were reposts of an article that apparently had "all the details of the dramatic break up" as well as "everything you need to know about Enjolras' new, hot boyfriend".

He let out a shaky sigh but continued reading, ignoring the link to the article. What he did notice was some of the people's reactions. While most of them were honestly devastated by the situation ( _"I don't believe in love anymore **#EnjoltaireIsOver** "_), which was... weird, some of the tweets were closer to what Grantaire was used to read whenever it came to his relationship with Enjolras:

 

> _>   _ **#EnjoltaireIsOver**?? _ r u upset about that? Enjolras is better off without him anyway maybe now he can make actual music **  
> **_
> 
> _> but that new guy is so much better than Grantaire, though. sooooo glad  **#EnjoltaireIsOver**_
> 
> _> did y'all see the new boyfriend? he's so cute!!! I want twenty  **#EnjoltaireIsOver**_

 

Grantaire swallowed, looking up at Bahorel and stretching his arm to give the cellphone back. "That was... educational," he said, standing up. "'Chetta, can you do me a favor?" he asked, pulling his own cellphone out of his pocket and placing it in front of the girl. "Get rid of all my accounts, would ya? I don't want to know anymore shit about them."

And with that said, he walked out of the office, ignoring the voices coming from behind Valjean's door, and headed for the nearest liquor store. Fuck everything, fuck the promise he'd made to Enjolras; he'll drink as much as he fucking wanted that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And things don't get better for the gang... Thanks for sticking with us! There's at least another six chapters to go so, loads of things coming up :D
> 
> P.S. I have a rule of avoiding popular songs as much as I can in these fics, but come on, one can't just not include Good Riddance :3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He got inside his apartment building through the parking lot to avoid anyone that could recognize him and went straight to the lift. Jehan heard steps behind him; he looked over his shoulder but there was no one there. Maybe he was imagining things. The parking lot was really silent as he waiting for the doors to open.
> 
> The lift was empty but that wasn't surprise considering the time. He was stepping inside when someone pushed him violently through the doors, making him trip over his steps. He turned around, a deep frown wrinkling his features, but stopped in mid-motion when he saw who was standing in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhhh, you thought I wasn't going to update this month, uh?! Yeah, me too... Sorry about that, real life happened... In my defense, this is a slightly longer chapter (+5k words), yay! 
> 
> Also, thank you to those that participated in the poll!! [We had a tie](http://anastasiawritingfics.tumblr.com/post/134345547476/and-the-poll-its-over-thank-you-feuillysheart) between **Enjolras/Grantaire** and **Courf/Jehan** , so I decided to do both (he he). You’ll have a double dose of fluff/smut: this chapter will be Courf/Jehan, and the next, Enjolras/Grantaire. Thanks again!
> 
>  **cw:** minor violence, blood, bruises.

Being famous had always been a weird concept for Jean Prouvaire. It wasn't something he’d imagined himself being because, even when he loved writing poetry and other stuff since he was very young, he considered it was one of those things that only got valued over time. He’d imagined himself dying alone, surrounded by his books and manuscripts, as a kind of Van Gogh, completely unaware of the success his work would have _post mortem_.

He never thought he’d be in a punk band. And a popular one at that.

It was the second day after the picture of Enjolras and Armando had leaked out and the fuss was nowhere near to cool down. The management team had decided to attack the rumors as discreetly as possible; they were ordered to ignore the comments, keep their mouth shut on the matter, and let Musichetta and Cosette handle the situation from Sassafras Root’s and Carpe Diem’s official accounts. It hadn't been an easy task; while not the entire fan base was invested in the drama, those who were were desperate to get answers and kept pressing both bands to give them.

Musichetta hadn't deleted Grantaire’s accounts on Twitter and Instagram as she’d been instructed, and the man’s cellphone had been handed to Jehan. He tried to ignore the constant beeping of the device every time it announced a new mention, but couldn’t stop himself for long, giving in to his curiosity and reading some of the messages. Only a handful of fans actually supported Grantaire and even his past addictions had been brought into the discussion; they were plainly cruel, sure that it’d been Grantaire’s fault.

“It’s not like they’re lying, right?” Grantaire had said when, in a fit of rage, Jehan had accidentally let him know he had his cellphone at which Grantaire demanded him to give it back. “I mean, why would he stay with me?”

Jehan knew Musichetta had explicitly stated none of them spoke or wrote a word about it, but he couldn’t sit there, watching as his friend was mercilessly attacked and hurt. He opened the Twitter app, typing an angry message but, before he could send it, he took a moment to read it over. He would make things worse and it was the last Grantaire needed. Instead, he did his best to reduce it at something at all aggressive but, hopefully, still significant.

_**@jehanprouvaire** : Guys, not cool…_

It was silly but how could he put into words how much the entire situation was affecting them? None of them were at their best at the moment and Jehan didn’t know what else to do to help his friend. He turned off his cellphone and went to lie on his bed, trying to catch some sleep, even though he was worried sick about Grantaire, who kept moving between his friends’ apartments and was currently staying at Bahorel’s.

 

***

 

Courfeyrac got himself inside Jehan’s apartment with the key the young man had lent him, tightening his grasp on the cup carrier and the bag he was balancing on his left hand. He came with breakfast for Jehan and two cups of hot cocoa; it wasn’t that cold outside anymore, but Courfeyrac knew Jehan always drank cocoa when he was feeling down, no matter the weather, and he wanted to spoil him a bit.

He let the bag on the kitchen counter and went to look for his friend with the cup carrier still in hand. The apartment was submerged in complete silence, and it felt way too big for only one person. Courfeyrac thought that, when things between Enjolras and Grantaire went back to normal -as all of them hoped-, maybe he could ask Jehan to move in with him. He had a spare room, in case Jehan didn’t want to share a bed with him every night, or wanted to spend some time alone. They could share chores and watch movies before going to bed; they’d take good care of each other; it’d be, like, friend-married or something.

Jehan was laying on his bed but wasn’t asleep as he proved by lifting his head after hearing Courfeyrac coming inside the room. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was knotted and messy. The young man smiled faintly and patted the spot next to him on the bed.

“Hey there,” the drummer said, taking a sit and waving the cocoa in front of Jehan’s nose. “I brought you something.”

“Thanks.” The young man took one of the cups and sat up. “Any news?” he asked, sniffing his beverage.

“Not really. Enjolras forced Cosette to tweet that he wasn’t dating the guy in the picture, but he didn’t say anything about Grantaire and the break up.”

“Why’s that?”

“Not sure. I think he’s hoping Grantaire changes his mind,” he added with a shrug.

They drank the cocoa in silence but Jehan refused to eat what Courf had gotten him. The drummer took the empty cups and threw them away in the trash can. He walk back to the bed, slowly, and rubbed the back of Jehan's neck. "I should go now, you need to rest. The food is in the kitchen, don't forget to-"

"Would you stay here?" Jehan interrupted, wrapping his fingers around the wrists of Courf's hand  still resting on his neck. "Please? Just... I don't like the silence."

"Sure, no problem. Move on, I'll get in bed with you." He only took off his shoes and climbed next to the young man, throwing the bedsheets over them. Jehan snuggled up to him immediately, letting out a soft sigh that sound relieved to Courfeyrac, even though he wasn't sure why was that.

They laid in silence for a few minutes; Jehan’s face was buried in the crook between Courfeyrac’s neck and shoulder while the drummer ran gentle fingers through the strands of copper hair. Jehan seemed relaxed next to him, but his brows were knitted together, drawing a long line over the young man's forehead. Courf traced small circles on his scalp; he wanted to ease the worry, wanted to see Jehan's bright eyes again, but he didn't know how to do it.

“Jehan?” he whispered in the darkness, unconsciously biting his lower lip. Jehan made a soft noise of acknowledge, indicating he wasn’t asleep, and Courf continued after a deep sigh. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, dude. What can I do? What-”

Jehan shifted next to him, untangling his arms off of Courf’s waist. One of his hands rested heavily on the drummer’s lower belly, rubbing softly his way down to his crotch. A smirk spread out on Courfeyrac’s face, the fingers in Jehan’s hair pulling gently.

“What d'ya doing, boy?”

“Nothing... Want me to stop?”

This wasn't exactly what Courf had in mind nor was he going to complain; there were very few things he enjoyed more that spending some quality time with Jehan. And if wanted this, well, he could roll with that; who was him to deny him such joy?

“No, no. Help yourself to some big-”

“Please, don’t finish that sentence.”

Courfeyrac’s laugh was interrupted by a low moan escaping his lips; they’d been together more than a few times and Jehan knew _exactly_ where and how to touch him. Courf's breath hitched quickly and that couldn't possibly be fair when Jehan was completely unaffected while his fingers worked wonderfully on his dick. "Want me to suck you off?" he gasped in a rush, trying to regain some control. Jehan laughed softly, but didn't stop the motion of his hand over Courf's crotch. "I'm gonna suck you off," he decided, shifting on the bed until he was kneeling over the young man.

He spread Jehan's legs open and settled between them, resting his hands on the other man's knees as he drank in the sight of the man in front of him, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. He smoothed a hand over his hair, and preceded to lower Jehan's underwear barely enough to free his cock. He wasn't hard and that worried Courf a little; he looked Jehan in the eyes, waiting for a word or a nod or something. Jehan smirked, lifting his hips until the line of his dick rubbed along Courf's thumb resting motionless over his hip. That was sign enough.

Courfeyrac laid down on his stomach, until his was eyes-level with Jehan's delicious dick. He spit on his hand and rubbed it slowly, prompting it to full hardness; Jehan was panting and Courf decided it was time to move forward. He licked his lips first and the then placed a small kiss on the tip of Jehan's cock, smiling when the young man grunted in delight. He bent over and took him into his mouth, lapping at the underside as his head bobbed up and down. It'd been a while since the last time he did that; he'd never been really good at it and most of the time he pretended it was something he didn't enjoyed that much. But Jehan was responsive, oh so responsive, arching his back from the bed when Courf hummed around him.

Long, calloused fingers tangled in his hair as Jehan gasps came erratically past his red lips. He was pulling at Courfeyrac's hair, trying to warn him he was close, but Courf only hummed once again, running a hand up Jehan's side and down to his hips again to let him know it was okay to let go. And that Jehan did, grunting lowly as he came hot down Courfeyrac's throat, curling his fingers in the bedsheet under him.

"Wow, who'd say it?" Jehan panted, his body twitching slightly after the orgasm, cupping Courf's jaw to pull him closer. "Courfeyrac swallows."

Courf kissed his lips, chastely. "Only for you, my dear. Only for you."

The young man got up and flipped them over until Courf's back was against the mattress. He threw a leg over his hips, straddling his thighs, and looking down at him with a small smile. Courfeyrac sat up, resting a hand on the nape of Jehan’s head and pulled him down for a deep kiss.

“Tell me what you want now.”

“Stay still.”

He complied, lying down on the bed again. Jehan bent over him and peppered his neck with wet kisses. His hard on was poking at Jehan's ass, he couldn't suppress the delighted sighs every time the young man rocked on top of him. Jehan breathed hotly in his skin, nuzzling behind his ear; Courf lifted a hand to stroke his cheek softly, the heat of the moment slowed down after Jehan's orgasm. The ginger avoided prolonged eye contact, but kisses the palm of his hand, sweetly.

Jehan turned his head until Courfeyrac’s fingers were brushing his lips. Using his tongue, he brought them closer and took two digits into his mouth, licking the tip and sucking around them; the image was vulgar and Courfeyrac couldn’t stop the breathy moan that followed. Jehan did all this as he rolled his hips on top of the other man, creating a sweet friction between them. When he considered Courfeyrac’s fingers were well lubricated, he bent over slightly and guided the hand pass the hem of his briefs until the tip of his fingers brushed his entrance, inviting Courfeyrac to push inside of him; Courfeyrac didn’t need to be told twice.

“I like your fingers,” Jehan gasped, biting the lobe of Courf’s ear. “And your arms are so strong.”

He was rocking his hips back onto Courfeyrac’s fingers, bringing them deeper inside of him. There was nothing sweet about the act and the drummer feared Jehan was just looking for a distraction of his troubled thoughts. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Jehan to believe this was the only way he could find comfort in him. He slowed the motion of his fingers and place a hand on Jehan’s waist, willing him to stop moving. When the young man looked at him quizzically, he kissed his forehead. He guided him to a tender pace, exchanging slow kisses that were interrupted from time to time by Jehan’s soft gasps. A shiver ran down Jehan’s body and he hid his head under Courf’s chin. His cock was growing hard again, and Courf opted to give him a soft, tentative squeeze with his free hand.

“Stop, stop,” Jehan whispered, his lips brushing the other man’s skin, and Courfeyrac retrieved his hands carefully. “Wait here.”

“Wasn’t planning on moving.”

Jehan rolled his eyes and stood up, walking towards the bathroom as he pulled his briefs all the way down and kicked them out of the way. Courfeyrac followed his example, getting completely naked in record time. The young man came back soon after, holding a small bottle of lube and a pack of condoms in his hands and climbed back up. He positioned himself on top of the drummer, ripping the package of the condom open, and rolled it down Court's cock. "Is it okay?" Jehan asked; Court's mind was too fogged to fully register the question so he just nodded, stroking Jehan's pale thighs.

Jehan lubed him up, almost bringing Courf to the edge, and held himself up on his knees, guiding Courf's dick to his entrance. He lowered himself onto the other man, slowly, gasping when Courf’s cock slid easily inside of him. Courfeyrac's hands went immediately to his waist to steady him as Jehan rode him, keeping a fast and steady pace. "You're gorgeous," Courfeyrac practically moaned, looking up at the young man and locking eyes with him. Then he sat up, encircling Jehan's waist with his arms, and thrusting his hips into him to match his peace.

The new angle made Jehan yelp, digging his nails in the skin of Courf's back, and he rocked his hips harder. It became too much too soon for Courf, who had been sporting an erection since Jehan had started to touch him, and suddenly he was coming inside Jehan, mouth gaping like a fish in Jehan's chest and hips thrusting with abandon. The ginger kept fucking himself down on Courf's softening dick, caressing the man's scalp as hi rode him more insistently. When he came a second time with a silent cry, the hand tangled in the brown hair pulled it involuntarily, and Jehan's limp body fell over Courf with a satisfied sigh.

Courf pulled out of him and laid him down next to him on the bed. He tided the condom and threw it carelessly on the floor. "Man, that was... That was awesome," he said pleased, brushing copper strands of hair off Jehan's forehead.

"I know," the young man said, smugly.

Couf nudged his ribs, sticking his tongue out, but pulling Jehan into a tight embrace.

The frown that had been haunting Jehan's face earlier was no longer there and Courf was just glad he could listen to his laugh again.

 

***

 

Jehan walked back to his apartment later that day. Courfeyrac had left a few hours ago to do something Jehan couldn't remember, and he'd gone to Bahorel's apartment to see Grantaire. His friend wasn't there when he got there, even when he'd called him to ask him to wait for him. "He went back to Joly's," Bahorel said sheepishly when he opened the door. "He said he had something to do, I don't know."

He stayed with him for a while, suppressing the empty feeling inside his stomach at the thought that Grantaire was avoiding him. What had he done wrong? He tried to not think he was a better option than Joly or Bahorel or Musichetta but... They'd grown up together, they knew each other better than anyone else, why was... Why was he running away from him?

He tried not to be overly dramatic, Grantaire must had his reasons, but still, it was weird to be avoided like this, especially by him. He didn't say any of this to Bahorel, though. He let him talk about a thing or another, until it was starting to get dark outside, and then said goodbye.

He got inside his apartment building through the parking lot to avoid anyone that could recognize him and went straight to the lift. Jehan heard steps behind him; he looked over his shoulder but there was no one there. Maybe he was imagining things. The parking lot was really silent as he waiting for the doors to open.

The lift was empty but that wasn't surprise considering the time. He was stepping inside when someone pushed him violently through the doors, making him trip over his steps. He turned around, a deep frown wrinkling his features, but stopped in mid-motion when he saw who was standing in front of him.

Claquesous stood tall a few steps away from him, showing his fangs in a threatening smile. Before Jehan could look at him properly, the broad man shortened the distance between them, taking Jehan by the shoulders and forcing him to face the metallic wall.

He was thrown against it, Claquesous’ arm pressed to the back of his neck to the point where it’d started to hurt, pushing him further into the hard surface and preventing him from breathing normally. “Where’s my money, you little shit? Today’s the fifth day, I hope you have it on you,” the man growled in his ear, groping him sharply, and hurting him in the process.

Jehan’s stomach sunk. He’d forgotten about it. He’d kept the thought in the back of his mind but had lost track of time. It couldn’t be possible five days had gone so fast. He didn’t had the money, he hadn’t even tried to collect it, why would he do now? “I… I don’t-”, he stuttered, feeling a few tears rolling down his cheeks. He was suffocating.

“You don’t what? You don’t have it?” Claquesous said, letting him go violently. Jehan rubbed his neck, but didn’t dare to turn around. The convict wasn’t having none of it though; he took him by the arm and forced him to face him. He looked worst that the last time Jehan had seen him. His eyes were sunken and his skin had a grayish tone that made him look dead. He seemed frantic, his dark eyes glancing around them, as if he was waiting for something to happen. Or someone to come, even though they were still in the lift. “I’ve not time for your stupid games, where's the money, you fucking faggot?"

“I don’t have it.” He didn’t think of lying; with his back flushed against the wall and the man completely out of his mind standing a few steps away from him, he could barely even breath.

A red glint crossed Claquesous’ eyes and suddenly he was pulling a small knife out of his pocket. He pressed it on Jehan’s cheek, wrapping the other hand around his neck and tossing him against the wall a couple of times. “You better be joking. You better be joking or you'll regret it.” Jehan closed his eyes, afraid to provoke the man if he looked at his face. "I could kill you right now..." Claquesous trailed off, running the blade over Jehan's neck, close to his pulse point. "But you're even more useless dead."

He felt a slight pull under his feet. The lift was moving and he wondered if Claquesous had felt it as well. A wave of panic showered over Jehan; when the doors opened, whoever was at the other side, would be in as much danger as he was now. Would Claquesous do anything to escape, even if that meant killing an innocent? Jehan was sure he would; maybe he still needed Jehan but he had no use for the person waiting for the lift.

The knife dug deeper into Jehan's skin and he couldn't suppress a gasp of pain. "This' gonna happen. You have one day, d'ya hear me? You gonna take the cash tomorrow night to the bar two streets away of here. And you better be there or Imma hunt you down, bitch."

Claquesous applied more force into the knife and Jehan's skin finally gave in. He felt the sharp pain of his flesh tearing up under the blade as the doors slid open behind them. Claquesous flinched, apparently unaware that they'd moved, and turned around in a quick jerk. He didn't wait for the other person to say a word of the weird scene in front of their eyes and instead got out in a haste, pushing the person out of the way and leaving a long, supeficial cut on Jehan's cheek dripping tiny drops of blood on the young man's shirt.

He heard the rushed steps going towards the stairs and only then he dared to look up. The person had fallen to the floor but was now getting up to their feet; Jehan saw a familiar mop of wavy, brown hair peeking inside the lift and a soft whimper escaped his lips.

"Jehan?" Courfeyrac asked, stopping the doors before they closed and approaching him quickly. "You're bleeding, are you okay? What happened?" The drummer held him against his chest and guided him outside the lift. Jehan was unable to walk due to the shock and Courf let him rest his back against the concrete wall. "We need to take you to the Hospital. Was... Was that Claquesous?" he asked, softly, lifting a finger to Jehan's cut covered by the young man's hand.

Jehan nodded, looking at his blooded hand and then pressing it back against his cheek. It was barely tinted red, the cut wasn't deep, just a scratch after Claquesous had turned around quickly. "I forgot about the money."

Courf's breath caught in his throat for a second there, realization washing over him and showing up in his eyes. He nodded understanding and hugged him tightly. "Let's get that cleaned up, okay?" he whispered, rubbing his back, reassuringly. "Then you can tell me what happened."

 

***

 

Courfeyrac cleaned the cut on Jehan’s cheek, carefully. They stayed in silence during the whole process, but once he was done, Jehan run a finger down the red line, wincing when it stung, and whispered “You think it’ll leave a scar?”

“No, it’s not deep.”

“If you hadn’t shown up, it would’ve been," Jehan commented miserably. He didn't think it necessary to go to the hospital, so Courf placed a clean gauze pad over the cut and secured it with tape.

After a moment in which neither of them spoke a word, Courfeyrac murmured, "You have to tell Grantaire about this..." Jehan lifted his head, glaring at him, and shook his head. "Why not? You think he won't notice that?" he gestured vaguely at the young man's face.

"He won't even talk to me, I doubt he sees this."

Courf debated with himself whether to ask what he meant or simply let it pass. He whipped the dinner table where they'd been cleaning Jehan's cut, throwing glances at his friend. "I don't know, I think he'd like to know what's going on with you." When the other man ignored him, he shook his head softly. He didn't want to argue with him, so he left the conversation at that. "Why don't you go to take a shower and we'll figure something out, okay? It'll make you feel better."

Jehan didn't answer but got up the table and walked into his room. Courf walked behind him, resting a comforting hand on his back. Jehan didn't shrug it off, which was a start, but he was unusually silent as he undressed in front of Courf and grabbed his towel. As he headed to the bathroom, back turned to Courf, the drummer saw a few small bruises on Jehan’s body: his shoulder, over his ribs, on the back of his neck… That one was nasty looking and Courfeyrac winced in sympathy. Jehan eyed him before closing the door and Courf changed his worried look into a smile.

He was resting his back against the headboard of the bed when his cellphone vibrated into his pocket with a new Twitter notification; it didn’t do it just once, but the messages kept coming after almost ten minutes, and that was the only reason why he bothered to see what was going on now. He braced himself for a new wave of fan messages, most certainly related to Enjolras and Grantaire, and unlocked his phone.

 _. **@jehanprouvaire** No wonder **@fakecourfeyrac** doesn't want to date your cheating ass_ , said one of the tweets and Courf had to read it over at least three times before his brain registered the words.

“What the fuck…?” Courfeyrac mumbled, staring down at his cellphone. There were other tweets following that path, assuring Jehan was the one to blame for the infamous break up, dragging Courfeyrac into the jumble due to their “relationship” –quotation marks imposed by the fans themselves. Courfeyrac was honestly confused; where the hell had that come from? Jehan cheating? What was that? What was going on?!

“What’s wrong?” Jehan asked, walking back into the bedroom, drying his copper hair with a towel, another around his waist.

“Uh, nothing. Just… It’s nothing…”

It was obvious Jehan hadn’t bought his lie, but decided not to comment on it. He turned around, still eyeing him suspiciously, and went to grab something from the bedside table. All the while, Courfeyrac scrolled down his Twitter feed, genuinely scared of the direction the people were taking; it was madness, pure madness, Courfeyrac was sure no one saw it coming this far. He wished rumors like these would spread when they all were in a better place, they’d just laugh it off and continue with their lives, but right now? It was terrible timing.

He heard Jehan labored breathing next to him and he turned around to face him. Jehan’s shoulders were tense, eyes looking franticly down to the device in his hands; he’d seen… He’d seen what people were saying about him and seemed in the middle of a meltdown. “Jehan…” he whispered, standing up and trying to reach out for the cellphone. “Don’t listen to them, okay? Give- give me that, just ignore them.”

Jehan let him took the device but kept staring at his hands. His eyes were empty, looking at nothing in particular, but probably fighting inside his head against the words he'd read. Courfeyrac led him back to the bed, taking the towel he'd let fall on the floor and drying his hair.

“You know… it’s not like that, don’t you?” he felt the need to ask. They’d talked about it… sort of. Jehan knew he didn’t do boyfriends, he’d known all along and had been okay with that. They were friends, best friends even, and he loved him deeply… Just not like that. “You know I love you but-“ his sentence was interrupted by an incredulous snort and he frowned. “What? Why was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounded like something.”

“Whatever you say, okay? It’s not like I’m not used to this.” He felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach when Jehan’s watery eyes locked with his. The young man shook his head, causing a few tears to roll down his eyelashes. “You say you love me but then just won't… You know? Doesn’t matter. I think you should go."

"I feel like I missed something. What's going on here? You don't believe what they say, right? That's not why we're not dating, it's just-"

"Please, just leave."

Courfeyrac didn't utter a word and just grabbed his things. He waved goodbye from the door (instead of the usual peck on the lips that was common between them) and walked out of the apartment. _Okay... That was weird_ , he thought to himself once out in the street. Had he been misunderstanding their relationship? Maybe Jehan had been sleeping with him in hopes that he changed his mind and he never notice...

In thirty years of his life, this was the first time Courfeyrac was utterly and genuinely confused.

 

***

 

Enjolras rubbed his temple with an index finger and tossed the magazine to a nearest table. It was an old issue, from somewhere between August or September of the last year; someone had caught him walking around Oakland holding Grantaire’s hand. He didn't remember why he’d decided to keep it, usually he didn’t care about that kind of press, but he had and now had spent the past half an hour staring at the pages with a pained expression. They looked happy, at least Enjolras thought so... It was the first weeks after Grantaire moved to California, Enjolras remembered. It was barely half a year ago, what had happened to them?

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts and he was surprised he’d even heard it; it’d been really soft, almost shy. He got to his feet and walked up to the door, sighing deeply before pulling it open. The air got stocked in his throat once he saw Grantaire standing in the hallway next to Joly, who watched awkwardly between the two men. That wasn’t exactly a good sign.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, flatly.

“Hi- Hi.” Enjolras stuttered, clearing his throat.

“So... I came to grab some stuff. I... I left a few things here and, y’know, I need them... back.”

The blond nodded slowly, moving out of the way to let them in. He thought about simply grabbing his keys and walk away, let them do whatever they wanted and... just go. Anywhere. But his body didn’t agree and he stood there in silence, watching them gathering books, CD’s, and other things from the shelves. He went to his bedroom and moments later, the door swung open, giving way to a hesitant Grantaire.

“Hmmm,” Joly said, appearing behind Grantaire. “Do you want me to...” Grantaire shook his head slowly, looking at some point above Enjolras shoulder, and Joly started walking backwards. “Okay, I’ll wait for you downstairs, then. Good bye, chief.”

“Bye...”

Grantaire didn't move for a few seconds, his Adam appel bobbing when he swallowed -at which Enjolras had to look somewhere else because that brought memories-, and eyes wandering around the room. His flexed and unflexed his fingers a couple of times, biting his lip.

"I can go, if it makes you feel comfortable", Enjolras offered, unable to stand the silence.

"No... this is your room... It won't take long."

Grantaire went into the room picking stuff from the floor, the desk and the cabinet drawers while Enjolras remained standing near the door. He saw Grantaire stopping on a few objects from time to time before either throw them inside his bag or discard them back to the place from where he took them; Enjolras wondered if he couldn't remember to whom it belonged or... or was just remembering.

"What happened to us...?" he wondered out loud. He'd meant it to say it to himself, but had failed to control his voice.

Grantaire looked at him over his shoulder for a second and then shrugged. “We fooled ourselves into believing we could be together… But we can’t.”

“Nothing happened…” he whispered, feeling like he should explain further. "We went for a coffee, that’s all.”

“It’s not that, Enjolras. There’s so much behind this.”

“Then tell me! I don’t understand and I’ll never will unless you talk to me.”

“I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of having to prove to you and everyone else that I deserve you. Because I don’t and I know it. This is a big waste of time…”

They fell in silence once again, avoiding to look at each other while Grantaire packed the rest of his clothes. Enjolras observed him from the bedroom door wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Grantaire tossed the last wrinkled shirt inside his backpack and zipped it closed, then he sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his open palms on his knees.

“It was my fault.” Grantaire whispered out of the blue. “I got my hopes up, I guess. After I kissed you in that concert? You… You saved my life, man. And having you there… That from all the people that went to that concert, you’d chosen me… What would’ve you done…? If the man you’ve been dreaming of suddenly wanted to kiss you? … But I’ve been lying to myself for ten years. God, it’s a fucking long time, you know?… And I- I don’t know why you endured this two years with me. Maybe because it’s easier to choose someone when they’re your only option… But you have someone else now. So I’ll just walk away.”

“Grantaire, wait. You can’t do this. Let me explain-”

“That’s not necessary,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “This time I’ve gotta put my guard down, pick myself up off the ground and take the pain.” He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and turned around to look at him. “See you around, Enj,” and with that, he left Enjolras’ apartment, bag in hand.

Enjolras was speechless. He could feel his heart beating fast inside his chest and his dry mouth made it hard to swallow. His forehead hurt because of the deep frown that had settled in it since he got to the apartment. He sat down on the couch, breathing heavily through his nose. He hadn’t say a word when he could and now was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! Happy holidays!! Hope you have a wonderful time, thanks for sticking up with this fic. You're wonderful. And I'm sorry about this... But I'd appreciate some comments and kudos?? Please??
> 
> See you next year!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He closed the door carefully behind him and approached the bedside table, peering over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him. He pulled out an orange bottle from the depths of the top drawer and popped the cap open; it was his first time doing morphine but the desire of feeling numb was unbearable, he needed a way to tone down the noise inside his brain: he'd hurt someone again, but this time it was one of his friends. He'd promise he'd never do it again and had fucked it up in the worst possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!! I hope you still remember what this is about... :P
> 
>  **cw** for internalized arophobia, drugs, and friends being major dicks to each other.

It was around 5 in the morning when Courfeyrac finally got a chance to escape to his bedroom, away from the eyes of his friends gathered in his living room, chatting and dozing off after an impromptu meeting. They'd come in a hurry the previous day because Enjolras had felt the sudden urge to revise only God knew what about a song at 11 at night. He'd become worryingly obsessed with the new album after The Breakup and they assumed work was a distraction for whatever he was feeling. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, couldn't bother with it; the only reason why they were at his place was he'd just returned from a quick visit to an old "friend" when Enjolras' message buzzed in his phone, and was too lazy to go out again.

He closed the door carefully behind him and approached the bedside table, peering over his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him. He pulled out an orange bottle from the depths of the top drawer and popped the cap open; it was his first time doing morphine but the desire of feeling numb was unbearable, he needed a way to tone down the noise inside his brain: he'd hurt someone again, but this time it was one of his friends. He'd promise he'd never do it again and had fucked it up in the worst possible way.

He left the bottle on the table and looked for the small mortar and pestle he was sure he still had somewhere, even though he hadn't used it in years. He wasn't exactly quiet anymore, but it was a miracle he'd held it together for so long when Jehan's pained eyes wouldn't stop reproaching him everywhere he looked. Maybe... maybe all the things people said about him were true after all and he was a selfish, heartless prick; he played with people's feelings, he was a jerk.

The first time he'd heard those words he was fifteen and had rejected a girl after she had confessed she had a crush on him. Her friends had practically eaten him alive, saying all kinds of horrible things in his face and behind his back, spreading rumors, and reproaching him his "lack of tact". He had dismissed it at the moment; he wasn't exactly a well behaved kid, to be honest, but even then he preferred the rumors over deceiving the girl into thinking the sentiment was reciprocated.

He was in the process of figuring out if he liked girls or boys -so far, he really didn't care about the gender- when he promised himself he wouldn't date anyone until he was sure he really wanted to. It never happened and that gave him a reputation, one that had followed him over the years, even after he joined _Carpe Diem_ : he was promiscuous, shallow, a playboy with terrible commitment issues, a _liar_... And he went along with it. It was an easy way out of situations he wasn't ready to affront, even though it wasn't exactly accurate, not to say flattering; he liked sex, yes, but it wasn't like he was actively trying to emotionally hurt the person he was sleeping with. He simply wasn't interested in taking things further.

When they went on tour almost two years ago, Jehan had been one of the first to catch his attention (and only because it was impossible not to stare at Bahorel's ass). Jehan was just so damn sweet and had that thing around him, a kind of aura that he could only compare to a sad smile, a melancholic happiness that pulled at Courfeyrac. He was incredibly interesting and the drummer wanted to get to know him better so, so badly; he wanted to talk with him for hours, to learn his favorite everything, to share and laugh together. He wanted to be his friend, to be close to him, to...

And then he had to fuck it up by breaking his only rule and not keeping his dick inside his pants. _Well done, dumbass._

Courfeyrac went to dig under his bed; he was sure there were a couple of dusted boxes where he'd stored old crap. He found the mortar in one of them and sat down with it on his bed. He was so absorbed in it, that didn't hear the door cracking open or the soft breathing of the person behind it. The clink of a tablet hitting the porcelain was the only sound in the room before the drummer proceeded to crush it and grind it until he had a fine powder in the bowl. He took a deep breath and let the powder fall on the plain surface of the bedside table. Seven years gone to waste, but it was necessary-

"I hope you're not seriously thinking of doing that."

A voice interrupted Courfeyrac's train of thoughts and he jerked on his bed, almost dropping the mortar. He turned around to find Feuilly leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest and eyebrows in a deep, worried frown. At Courfeyrac's lack of response, Feuilly walked inside the bedroom and closed the door to give them privacy. A wave of relief washed over Courfeyrac; he would've pissed his pants if, after Feuilly -or instead of him-, Enjolras or Combeferre had come to scold him. He let Feuilly take the mortar out of his grip and watched him wiping the powder with his hand until it was all back inside the porcelain bowl. Feuilly sat down next to him, still waiting for him to utter a word, with nothing but sympathy in his eyes.

"I fucked up," the drummer murmured.

Feuilly placed the mortar on the mattress and threw an arm around his shoulders in a half hug, rubbing his arm. "What happened?" he asked.

Courfeyrac took a moment to order his thoughts before speaking. "I'm not... actually sure," he confessed after a minute. "I just... Jehan is mad at me but I'm not sure why. I mean, I _think_ I know why but... It wasn't on purpose, I wasn't lying."

"Lying about what?" The drummer took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and pulled at his hair while eyeing the mortar behind Feuilly. "Is this about you sleeping with Jehan?" his friend asked, pushing the bowl farther away.

"I think he might want us to be together... As in dating."

"What makes you think that?"

Courfeyrac told him about the incident the day before, about the fans' accusations, their fight. He didn't go too deep into details, he wasn't sure of how much of Jehan's situation he was supposed to say, but he did mention Jehan's heartbreaking insinuation that Courfeyrac didn't really mean it when he said he loved him. Feuilly listened in silence, just to ask what was the problem with that when Courfeyrac finished. "You just need to show him you mean it," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But I can't date him! I mean, I could, maybe, I don't think something significant would change between us, but it'd be a lie. I don't... I don't know how to name this. I love him, okay? But I don't feel what you feel for Bahorel or what Enjolras feels for Grantaire. I mean, I see you guys and is cute, and I totally support it but it's not... something I see myself doing. I've never felt something like that... I know it sounds weird but I just _know_ I haven't, and what I feel for Jehan is... It's different, and I don't want to lie to him." Feuilly waited, only listening in that annoying way Courfeyrac knew it meant he was silently analyzing every word, every gesture; he'd learned it from Combeferre. "I don't know if I should give it a go and try, even if it isn't real, or... Or if I should stop sleeping with him, keep a reasonable distance between us, and have him thinking there's something wrong with him... Except he already thinks that because I'm the asshole that let it happen. Fuck, there's no possible way out of this," he lamented. "I don't want to lose him, Feuilly..."

"You won't. Have you asked him what he wants, though?" Feuilly pointed out.

"Well, no. But he didn't give me a chance, he kicked me out before we could talk."

"Courf," Feuilly stood up, letting a reassuring hand fall on his shoulder. "Jehan is going through a rough time right now," he said. "He's not okay, he's afraid of those threats and-"

"How do you know about that?" Courfeyrac interrupted. Feuilly wasn't supposed to know. _No one_ was supposed to know, except for Jehan and him.

"Bahorel told me." _Oh, right. Bahorel knew, too._ "He didn't tell me the whole story, but he said something big was happening and that he was worried."

"Trust me, it's way worse than you're probably thinking..."

"More of a reason to look at this with different eyes. Think about it, try to see it from Jehan's perspective, I'm sure there's something else that's bothering him."

The drummer sat down on the floor with his legs pressed against his chest and hands covering his face, and closed his eyes. The whole thing with the convict was pretty fucked up, Courfeyrac understood Jehan was weary and nervous all the time but... what he'd said about Courfeyrac had come out of nowhere. It had never been a real issue between them; they were fine, much so that the fans thought- The fans! He lifted his head and uncovered his eyes, vaguely registering Feuilly was following his every move.

The fans had said Jehan was the reason behind Grantaire and Enjolras' breakup. Jehan had been hurt because of it, but that alone wasn't the real problem, it was just a part of it: Jehan had mentioned Grantaire wasn't talking to him... As if he didn't care what happened to him. Could that be what had triggered this sudden change in Jehan? Maybe he thought Grantaire actually blamed him for the break up. If Jehan and Courfeyrac were dating... any of that would have happened. Could that be?

"You just thought of something, didn't you?" Feuilly said with a smile.

"Yeah... But it doesn't have to do with me. Not entirely, at least"

"Really? Whose fault do you think it is then?"

"I think it's Grantaire's... He's been avoiding him, you know?"

"Wow. Well, you should ask Jehan, then," he added, extending a hand to help Courfeyrac up to his feet. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Sorry I almost... You know. Shouldn't go back down that road again."

Feuilly gave him a brief hug and patted his back. "You okay to go back to the others?" At Courfeyrac's nod, he approached the door.

"Hey, uhm... I'm not, like, transferring the blame, am I? It's not like I'm blaming 'Aire for something I did and..." he trailed off.

"What Jehan said, I'm sure he didn't mean it that way. I've seen you two, what you have's special, you're... I don't know how to describe it; you're right, it's different, but that doesn't mean it's wrong or that it needs to be adjusted to accommodate someone else's arbitrary rules. This," he said with a vague gesture that encompassed the whole situation. "This is yours and you're the only ones that will give it a name if you think it needs it."

"... Holy shit, who would say you of all people would give me such an amazing not-dating advice?"

"I really don’t believe in the traditional concept of a monogamous relationship," Feuilly said with a shrug. "I guess that’s why 'Ferre thought I could help you."

Courfeyrac stood still a few inches away from the door. "What do you mean 'Ferre thought'?"

"He was the one that saw you coming in here. He asked me to check on you."

_Well, shit._

Courfeyrac rubbed his eyes and combed his hair, before going back into the living room behind Feuilly and with the rest of his friends; his eyes found Combeferre as soon as he walked out of the hallway and it was evident he knew what had happened. Combeferre sent him a questioning look and he shook his head slightly, letting him know he hadn't done it, and smiled sheepishly, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his jeans; his friend smiled with pride, and went back to watching Enjolras write something on a paper sheet.

Courfeyrac pulled his cellphone out in an attempt to occupy his hands and was surprised to find a couple of missed calls and a message he hadn't heard beeping; they were all from Jehan and Courfeyrac's heart decided to lodge in his throat. He threw a quick glance at Feuilly -who was trying to move a sleeping Marius into a more comfortable position on the couch-, as if looking for support, and opened the text.

> _**From:** JP_  
>  _I'm so, so sorry. Can we talk? Please?_

Courfeyrac didn't try to stop the smile spreading on his face and instead look at the clock. It was almost 7 in the morning and the text had been sent about two hours ago. _No worries, baby. Hope you're having some sleep, I'll drop by when you wake up_ , he typed as a reply and sent it. He had enough time for a short nap before going to visit his favorite boy.

 

***

 

Grantaire leaned against the wall under the light of a lamp post and let out a frustrated sigh; he'd been walking around the empty streets for a few hours now, trying to decide where to go, with the backpack he'd taken from Enjolras' apartment hanging from one of his shoulders. It was early in the morning, around five or six, and he was relatively close to the apartment he used to share with Jehan. He couldn't really call it home anymore; he couldn't just walk in out of nowhere and make himself comfortable, like he hadn't been actively avoiding his friend for the past days. Not when he hadn't spent an entire night there in months.

But he didn't feel at home anywhere. He’d already bothered Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta, and even when Bahorel had insisted he could stay all the time he needed, enough was enough. He didn’t want to intrude in his friends’ lives and houses just because he wasn’t brave enough to face Jehan. He was ashamed, he’d followed Enjolras blindly, and reality had smacked him on the face: he wasn’t what the blond wanted, nothing he could do about it. Now he was coming back to Jehan, half drunk and with the tail between his legs like an abandoned dog, asking for acceptance and that unconditional love he hadn’t given back like the young man deserved.

He turned around a corner, walked next to a man sleeping on the sidewalk, and finally made up his mind, striding to the apartment. He let himself in with the spare key instead of ringing the bell, lowered the backpack on the floor by the front door, and went straight to his bedroom -the room that used to be his bedroom, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was breaking into Jehan's apartment-, walking as silently as he could muster so to not disturb the man sleeping next door. Everything was exactly as he’d left it the last time he’d been there; it was a little bit sad, to be honest. A messed up room, or even one object out of place could mean Jehan had been there, and the thought of his friend not even acknowledging his absence was… well, exactly what he deserved.

He flopped down on the bed, inhaling the dust coming from his pillows, and covered his eyes with an arm. He was in the middle of searching in his fogged mind for a way to tell Jehan he was back when he felt his eyes giving in to sleep. He dozed off for a while, and it wasn’t until he heard a loud thud coming from the next room, followed by a soft whimper, that he decided to get up. As he opened the door slowly, prolonging the inevitable confrontation as much as he could, he saw Jehan sitting on the floor outside of his own bedroom, covering his face with his hands; he was clenching his phone in one of them so tightly that Grantaire almost could hear it cracking. He forgot about all his wariness and approached him quickly; Jehan wasn’t crying, as far as Grantaire could tell, but he certainly looked defeated.

“Jehan?” he whispered, mere inches away from him.

Big mistake.

Jehan crawled backwards instinctively, lifting his head in panic and forcing his eyes to focus on the source of the voice. “What are you doing here?” the young man gasped, defensively.

Grantaire bit his lip, kneeling beside him. “I thought you said this would always be my home.” His tone was playful, trying to lighten up the mood, but his voice came out uncertain by the end of the sentence, making it sound like a question or a plea.

Jehan blinked a couple of times and his eyes widened once he recognized him. “Oh… Of- of course this is your home, Grantaire,” he assured, as if by saying his name he was making sure Grantaire was real. “It’s just… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

 _Where else could I be?_ , he thought, but didn't dare to say it aloud; they both knew where else he would be if things hadn’t gone horribly, horribly wrong. “Were you expecting someone el- what happened to your face?”

Jehan had tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, uncovering his face completely and revealing a big gash on his cheek. It was bright red and Grantaire assumed it was recent but wasn’t bleeding, thankfully. At hearing Grantaire's question, Jehan brought his hand up to his face, hiding the cut despite the fact it’d been in plain sight long enough for Grantaire to notice. “It’s nothing,” he assured. “It was… an accident.”

Grantaire's eyes traveled across Jehan's face and down to his neck and shoulders. He was wearing an oversized sweater that fell down on the left side where he saw a purplish bruise on Jehan's exposed skin. He scoot closer to his friend, moving his hands away from his face, and forced him to stand up with him, taking him by the upper arms. “What the hell happened to you?” he murmured more to himself, examining the bruise with trembling fingers. “Take off the sweater,” he ordered, stepping back a fraction, fearing his touch could hurt him even more.

Jehan narrowed his eyes, resentful. “It’s nothing,” he repeated, walking away from him and back into his bedroom. After a quick glance at the hallway behind him, Grantaire followed him.

The room was submerged in complete darkness, with the curtains closed. Grantaire turned the lights on and had to skip the lamp and a broken mug that were on the floor, which represented a challenge with his inebriated brain; he had to concentrate really hard to understand what he was seeing. And saying, since his mouth had decided to act on his own, mumbling unintelligible words that not even himself could make out. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Jehan, please," he said, dragging the syllables. "Take off the sweater, let me see.”

Jehan shook his head, but Grantaire stepped forward and reached out to pull off the clothing himself. The young man shoved his hand away before he could touch him. "I'll do it". A light blush spread over Jehan's cheeks as he removed the sweater, slowly revealing the damage on his body.

Grantaire's breath hitched.

Jehan had another bruise over his ribs and a weird mark on the side of his neck. Grantaire reached out for him again, asking for permission; Jehan lowered his head, letting his friend hold him by the arm in a loose grip, and turn him around. There was a purple bruise on his neck, like he'd been manhandled with excessive force, and the one on his shoulder extended a bit to his back. Grantaire swallowed a lump in his throat; he was furious. How had that happened? And why had they... Why had _he_ let it happen?

"Who did that?" he grunted, closing his eyes and hearing Jehan throwing the sweater over his head. When the young man didn't answer immediately, he repeated the question. "Jehan, who did that?"

That came out harsher than he'd intended to, but was greatly surprised to see Jehan hadn't even flinched; there was no trace of fear in his eyes, he knew he would never hurt him, but instead he looked mad. "You're drunk", he said -an affirmation, not a question.

Grantaire diverted his eyes for a second, his dark hair covering his face. "Don't make this about me", he retorted, lifting his head and stepping forward to close the distance between them. "Answer the question, Jehan. Who did that to you?"

Jehan's eyes drifted to his bedside table for a second there and Grantaire didn't hesitate to go over there. "No, wait!" Jehan tried to stop him but he wasn't listening. He pulled open the only drawer and rummaged inside of it; he didn't know what he was looking for, everything seemed normal, but there was something that caught his eye. There were a couple of paper sheets, folded in half, that looked like trash for how wrinkled they were, as if they'd been read over and over. He took one at random and the scared gasp he heard behind him gave him the cue to continue. He read the weird message written there and went to grab the next, his eyes traveling quickly over the scrambled words: "Well, well, it seems I've found a lost puppy"... He didn't have a context, but had recognized the nickname. There was just one man that had called Jehan that, and he thought he'd let him far behind.

"Claquesous?" he asked, not looking at Jehan.

"Ye- yeah..."

Grantaire suppressed a grunt, crumpling the paper in his hand.

A month ago, he'd be scared at discovering Claquesous had found them. When he'd read in the news that the older man had escaped jail a year ago, every mistake from his past had come down onto him; he wasn't scared of what Claquesous could do, he feared... he feared himself. Claquesous was a living reminder of a time in his life where he'd failed a loved one, ending in an irreparable tragedy. This time, though, this time he was furious. He was fed up of everything going wrong in his life and now Jehan was hurt. What was worse, he hadn't even been there to stop it, to fight it. It was always the same with him, wasn't it? He was selfish asshole that abandoned his friends as soon as someone new appeared in front of his eyes. He'd done it with Montparnasse, he wouldn't do it again with Jehan; he was going to fix this.

"What happened?" he asked for what felt was the tenth time. He managed to control his voice to sound calmer, but his hands were curled in tight fists, to the point where his knuckles were white. He didn't want his friend to feel guilty for keeping the secret; in any case, Grantaire had been the one to break his own promise.

Jehan hesitated before sitting down on his bed. Grantaire remained standing; something had broken up between them, Grantaire could feel it, and wasn't confident enough to be close to Jehan. When the redhead perceived this, he wrapped his arms around himself and started talking, never looking at the man in front of him. He told him everything, from the first message, the encounter in the library, to the money Claquesous was demanding from him. A few tears rolled down his eyelashes when he got to the incident inside the lift and the cause of the cut on his face; his voiced trembled when he mentioned Courfeyrac's name and how the drummer had helped him during this entire nightmare. Grantaire dug his nails in the palms of his own hands, suddenly on the defensive.

"Courfeyrac?"

"Yeah?"

"What was he doing here?" Jehan blushed, and Grantaire narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "What's going on between you two?"

Jehan bit his lips and shook his head before speaking. "We... Uhm, we are- were! We were together... I mean, not like that but we've... We've-"

"And where is he now?" Grantaire interrupted.

"What you mean?"

"He should be here. Or what? It was a hit-and-run? He was just playing with you, and when you needed him, he wasn't there," he bellowed, feeling a weird pulled in his stomach that he refused to acknowledge as guilt.

"What?!"

"Courfeyrac! Where is he now? Wasn't he supposed to take care of you?"

Jehan stared at him in disbelief. "Grantaire, you don't know what you're talking about. He's not my babysitter, I can take care of myself."

Grantaire didn't answer. He was sure he'd start shouting if he opened his mouth; he was furious, Jehan had tried to protect him and Claquesous had taken advantage of that. And Courfeyrac had known all along and had done nothing about it. Grantaire walked up to the bed and put a hand over Jehan's shoulder to encourage him to lay down; he felt his arm shaking the more he approached Jehan and forced himself to clench his fingers a few times before touching him. "What are you doing?" Jehan murmured, shrugging the hand off with a trace of anger in his voice.

"You need to rest."

"I think we both do," his friend said, searching his eyes. He took a deep breath and, after composing himself, held Grantaire's hand. "Come here." He pulled him down until he was lying with him on the bed, with his back pressed against Jehan's chest. His friend wrapped his arms around him and engulfed him in a warm hug. "Sleep," he murmured in his ear and made no comment on Grantaire's trembling body. "We both will still be here in the morning."

But Grantaire couldn't sleep. He felt restless, angry, and guilty, all things he'd been bottling up since the whole thing with Enjolras had started. He was desperate for a way out, an outlet for all his anger before he could hurt someone that didn't deserve it.

And Claquesous had just given him a reason to take it all out on him. He was going to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest with you, I was avoiding that scene with Courf, that's part of why it took me so long. It was _really_ hard to write, I wasn't sure about my approach to the subject, but Meeni helped me with that one (if you're reading this, thank you so much!).
> 
> So! Tell me what you think! This chapter was longer but I decided to split it in two, you can expect the second part soon :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hi, Azelma? Yes, this is Éponine Thénardier…"

Combeferre was worried, to say the least.

He knew things weren't all that good with his friends, but it wasn't until he saw what had happened at Courfeyrac's apartment that he acknowledged the magnitude of the whole thing. Not only Enjolras had broken up with Grantaire, or that Courfeyrac had an unresolved situation with Jehan, truth was neither of them knew how to handle this new type of fame highly focused on the gossip and their personal lives had been put on a twist. They still had the pressure of the new album over their shoulders and all this drama was more time-consuming than anyone dared to admit; _99 Revolutions_ had been a close call, one more mistake and they'd be out of the game.

When _Carpe Diem_ had started almost fifteen years ago, their first priority had been to keep their personal lives behind the curtains. They were very private about the people they related to, or the particular details about their families and other friends. No one ever found out about that time Enjolras met with his mother -behind his step father's back- that resulted in a painful discussion, or about Courfeyrac's long process to quit drugs, or about Anna, the girl Combeferre almost had a daughter with. All that had stayed between them, but keeping that privacy had become increasingly harder over the years; then  _Sassafras Roots_ moved to California and suddenly their lives away from the music became fair game to the fans.

The weight of all this had caused noticeable damage in Enjolras, who didn't seem himself at all. Everyone kept pushing his boundaries, asking invasive questions, and spreading rumors about him and Grantaire. Courfeyrac wasn't any better; Combeferre didn't know exactly what had happened, but he knew he'd been dragged into the mess along with Jehan and he was having a rough time being in control of it. The only ones that had avoided being on the spotlight were Feuilly and Marius, but they were fairly new to the public eye and didn't attract so much attention.

And if that wasn't enough, Combeferre had his own unresolved situation at home, with Éponine trying to follow the traces of a family that'd been denied to her and a prepubescent kid with more weight over his shoulders that what he could carry at his age. Combeferre tried to be supportive, but Gavroche was hard to handle.

He wasn't a problematic kid, not exactly, but sometimes he left the apartment in the middle of the night, without telling anyone, almost killing Éponine of a heart attack when she couldn't find him anywhere the next day. When Combeferre asked him why he did that, the boy said he felt trapped in there and couldn't sleep well. The boy had trust issues and neither of them knew how to help him or how to make him feel safe with them. He blocked every try to reach him and rejected any form of kindness; for him, this was nothing more than a job. As Combeferre approached his girlfriend's home, he smiled dryly at the thought of how well the kid fit with them; they were all messed up, what a joyful gang they were.

Éponine was pacing around her living room when Combeferre walked through the door. The house was unusually silent, which meant Gavroche wasn’t around; Éponine had tried to stay with him as much as she could since she found out he was her lost brother, and it was working pretty good so far -as long as the kid had something to do. At her request, Combeferre hadn’t mentioned their little visit to Gavroche's boss or what they’d discovered; his girlfriend wanted to approach the kid herself, alone, but hadn’t found the right moment. Combeferre knew it was more than that, though; Gavroche had accepted to stay with her, but had casually let them know he didn’t need nor wanted a mom or a dad. Éponine felt she, realistically, had nothing to offer him, and a little mishap could cost her losing the only family she had left, again.

Combeferre sat at the table and grabbed an apple from the basket in the center. Éponine didn’t even turn to look at him as she stopped close to the table with her eyes focused on the phone. "Where's Gav?" he asked, biting on the fruit.

"He took Mojo for a walk. I think Bahorel is paying him for the job, that's the only way Gavroche would accept to do it."

Combeferre nodded knowingly. Gavroche loved Mojo almost as much as Bahorel did -which was a lot, by the way-, and their friend had offered his dog to try to break Gavroche's defensive wall. The kid wasn’t used to enjoy things, he’d been raised to believe everything he did was for a benefit, one that translated exclusively into money, and Combeferre was sure the payment was only an excuse to let him play freely with the pet and still feel like he wasn’t “wasting time” for having fun; pretending he was doing a job was the only way he would allow himself to be a real kid again.

“Well, relax then,” he commented, wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her closer. “I’m sure he’s fine, Bahorel would never let him handle Mojo all by himself.” Éponine shook her head, biting her fingernails. “… But that’s not what you’re worried about, is it? What’s going on?”

“I have Azelma's number…”

“Really? That’s great! Did you call her yet?”

“No.” She shook her head rapidly, finally looking at her boyfriend. “What if she’s not her, ‘Ferre? What if I’m making a mistake?”

“Then you just find another lead and-”

“No! What if she’s her but doesn’t know about it? What if I ruin her life?! I mean, finding out you came from a man like my father is not easy to digest... Oh, God, what am I doing?!”

Combeferre pulled her down until she was sitting on his lap. He took her hands between his own to prevent her from eating her fingers out of pure anxiety, and asked her to focus on him. “You've come this far already, ‘Ponine. You’re a call away from knowing if it’s her or not and, even though no one is forcing you to keep going, we both know you won’t be at peace until you clear it all,” he said, softly. Éponine swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded. “Just one call,” Combeferre added, handing her the phone. “You want me to leave you alone?”

“No, stay. Please.”

Combeferre nodded and let her get up. After a couple of deep breaths, she dialed the number she had scribbled on a napkin and brought the phone to her ear, keeping her eyes closed, breathing in and out as she waited. When the call connected, her free hand curled into a tight fist.

“Hi, this is Éponine Thénardier. I’m looking for Azelma Jondrette? Yes, thank you.” Éponine tapped her index finger on the table, waiting for her call to be transferred. Combeferre took her hand and smiled reassuringly when she squeezed it hard after someone spoke on the phone. “Hi, Azelma? Yes, this is Éponine Thénardier… _Sassafras Root_ ’s manager? I need to talk to you about something.” There was a long pause in which neither Éponine nor Azelma spoke. After a moment, his girlfriend turned to look at him with her eyes wide open. _She wants to know if this is about the band_ , she mouthed, pointing at the phone in her hand.

_Tell the truth._

“Uhm, no. I’m afraid it’s not. It’s… uh, about a personal matter.” Another long pause and then Éponine was turning and giving him thumbs up. “Okay, yes! Thank you, I’ll see you tonight then. Bye, thank you.”

“So?”

“She wants to meet tonight at this café close to her work. Amazing, isn’t it?” Combeferre simply nodded, furrowing his eyebrows after he spotted something unusual in the conversation he'd witnessed. Éponine seemed to notice and tilted her head to be on Combeferre's sight line. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I think it’s odd.”

“What exactly?”

“She asked you if this was about the band, right?” Combeferre said, replaying his girlfriend's words inside his head.

Éponine nodded. “Yeah, why?”

“A band manager contacting a radio station? Anybody else would’ve thought this was business, why did she have to ask?”

“What you mean?" Éponine snorted. "It was just a question! What are you thinking?”

“I think she knows exactly what this is all about, Éponine.”

 

***

 

 **Red &Black Records** was fairly empty when Enjolras walked into the small building later that day. It was past six in the afternoon and, as per usual, Valjean was in his office doing a thing or another, nodding amicably in his direction when Enjolras walked by his open door. He had the studio all for himself, but that wouldn’t make a difference; he couldn't focus on anything.

Either way, he took 'Red' from its stand, sat on a stool in the middle of the room, and played some chords of one of their new songs that was bothering him. He'd revised it with his mates all night but still couldn't make it feel right; the song was finished, ready to be recorded, but it sat weirdly in Enjolras guts and he just couldn't figure out why. He was thinking of giving up already and give _Carpe Diem_ a break... Let the others start new projects while he works on the label with Valjean. The question was if he was ready to finally say goodbye to the stage.

His eyes traveled around the room, not sure of what exactly he was looking for, and stopped in the acoustic guitar leaning on the opposite wall. It wasn't his, was Grantaire's, he'd borrowed it from him a few weeks ago because it had a better sound, perfect for what Enjolras had in mind. He still had to give it back, maybe it was a good enough excuse to see him and… God, he was pathetic. He hadn’t been like this since… well, he couldn’t even remember, to be honest. Grantaire had changed everything since the first time they talked, since that moment they saw each other in that concert. Ten years were indeed a very long time, their story had stretched out beyond its limit; maybe it was time to let it go, despite the memories.

 

_~ A few months ago ~_

 

Enjolras left his keys on the little table next to the door and took off his jacket and wool scarf. He could hear a faint sound coming from the far end of his apartment, where he had his little room equipped to record his demos. He eyed the coat rack and discovered Grantaire's worn leather jacket hanging carelessly from one of the hooks; he smiled, directing his steps to the back of the apartment.

He poked his head inside the room and found his boyfriend sitting in front of the control board, headphones hanging around his neck, and acoustic guitar resting on his thigh. His head was bent over and seemed profoundly focused on whatever he was playing. Enjolras leaned his shoulder on the door frame, watching mesmerized.

"Hey," he whispered, trying not to startle him but failing anyway. Grantaire jerked his head up to look at him after hearing his voice, and the palm of his hand smacked the strings of the guitar to stop the sound. "Sorry," Enjolras snorted. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Grantaire rolled his eyes, smiling, and went back to play the guitar, though it was a different melody this time, Enjolras couldn’t help to notice. "You walk like a cat," he said, closing his eyes. "Ever thought of getting a bell? Or maybe we should adopt a real cat, that’d be nice.”

Enjolras walked into the room and stood next to Grantaire, resting a gentle hand on the nape of his neck as he peered at the scattered papers over the control board. "I don't think so.”

“The bell or the cat?”

“Neither. What were you doing?" he asked, taking the sheet of paper closer to him. "Was that a new song?”

"Uh... No?" Grantaire snatched the paper back and gathered the rest in a messy pile.

“Shame. It was good.”

A napkin remained forgotten on the board and Enjolras took it to roll it between his fingers. At up close, he saw it was covered in small doodles Grantaire had drawn with a pen. "I've never seen one of your drawings", he commented, tracing one of them with his fingers. His boyfriend jerked his head up to eye the napkin with something similar to embarrassment, but no word came out of his mouth. Enjolras handed it back, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, but still he said, giving in to his curiosity: "Jehan told me you used to be a tattoo artist."

"Artist," Grantaire snorted. "I mean, yeah, sort of, but... I don't know, it paid the bills."

"Why did you stopped?" Enjolras asked, although he knew the answer.

"Bad memories."

"Maybe we need to create new ones, don't we?" Grantaire shook his head. "Why not? You're talented and something tells me you actually love-"

"Okay, fine. You win. I'm gonna go back at it right now," he said with a wink before searching for something in the shelf behind them.

"What do you mean?"

Grantaire turned around, holding something in his right hand. His mouth curved in a wide grin as he lift up said hand to eye-level, letting Enjolras see a black Sharpie. "You inspired me to draw again," he said mockingly. "All I need is a canvas and I think I just saw one." He rolled his eyes at Enjolras' clueless expression and uncapped the Sharpie. "You've won yourself a new fake tattoo, play boy. Where do you want it?"

_Oh._

"... That's not what I was aiming for here."

"Well, too late. Where do you want it?"

Now that was a good question. Even though Enjolras thought tattoos were sexy to some degree, he'd never considered on getting another. He already had one -on his chest, right under his left collarbone-, but his skin was mostly clear and unaltered. He'd gotten that one with Combeferre and Courfeyrac after they signed their contract with Valjean and changed their name to _Carpe Diem_ ; that thought that was enough for him, needles made him feel slightly nervous. Lucky for him, this was just a temporary tattoo that didn't involve pointy objects, so he looked down to his body for a good spot for Grantaire's art, finding one way too quickly.

"I know exactly where I want it," he said, smugly, unzipping the fly of his jeans.

Grantaire's eyes widened comically. "You want me to draw on your dick?" he said, lifting an eyebrow in amused wonder.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and lowered his jeans to his knees, pointing at a spot of exposed skin on his right thigh. "Here. I want it here."

Grantaire nodded and walked up to him. "On the couch," he instructed, bringing his hand to his chin as his hazel eyes focused on Enjolras' thigh, mentally crafting the design of the temporary tattoo.

Enjolras flopped down on the couch, taking the guitar resting next to him to distract himself while Grantaire worked. He sensed movement in front of him and his legs spread automatically as far as his jeans allowed him when he saw Grantaire approaching him to give him more room to kneel between them. A long, callous finger traveled down his skin as the other man studied the spot Enjolras had chosen for the tattoo, and curled around the waistband of his jeans to take them off completely along with his shoes. Soon, the cold tip of the marker was moving over his skin, making him jolt slightly at the new sensation.

"Sorry, should've warned you," Grantaire whispered, wrapping the fingers of his free hand around Enjolras' leg to hold him in place.

Neither of them talked again for a while, Grantaire too focused on the tattoo while Enjolras played the guitar as softly as he could so not to break the moment. From his point of view, the blond couldn't quite identify the design on his thigh since Grantaire's hand was blocking it entirely, but he had a front row seat to the magnificence that was Grantaire's face immersed in his art: brows furrowed, wild, black curls falling over his eyes, and the tip of his tongue poking through his parted lips. Enjolras relaxed on the couch, letting the soft music coming from the guitar fill the room, and feeling pretty comfortable in Grantaire's hands.

"'Aire," he gasped a few minutes later. "I just had an idea. You think I can borrow your guitar?"

"Mhm. Stay still."

Grantaire rubbed his thumb on Enjolras' inner thigh, and kissed his hip bone gently while the blond examined the guitar more carefully. A shiver crept over his body when the soft lips left a trail of warmth behind them and the hand around his leg shifted, holding him firmly as Grantaire guided the Sharpie over his skin, humming to himself a song the blond couldn't identify. A smile bowed the corner of his lips as the lines on Enjolras' thigh, confident and steady, formed curves that extended over a big portion of his thigh in traces starting to take shape. Grantaire looked at peace, joyful, and Enjolras thought he didn't mind being the canvas if it meant to look at him like this; he very rarely looked so calm, he was always anxious and defensive, and the man in front of him right now seemed so tender that he felt a warm feeling spreading into his chest.

He cleared his throat to break the fluffy atmosphere around them that was starting to make him feel uncomfortable. "You're, uh, you're good at this."

Grantaire smiled fondly, resting his chin on Enjolras' knee and looking up at him. "Of course I am. I have many talents, you'd be surprised".

Grantaire had said it as a joke, but he was right; Enjolras was always surprised around Grantaire. Every time he played a new instrument like he'd practiced his entire life instead of barely a few days, or when he casually said a strange word, reminding Enjolras that he could speak other two languages. Grantaire didn't think it was impressive; he didn't take compliments very well so Enjolras simply stopped saying them. That didn't mean he didn't mean them.  
"Okay, I'm done!" Grantaire announced, capping the Sharpie and pulling out his cellphone to snap a shot of his creation. "It's not that bad, is it?" he asked, extending the hand holding the phone in Enjolras' direction.

Enjolras stared at the pic, shaking his head slowly. It was a drawing of a black cat in a sitting position, right in the middle of Enjolras' pale thigh. A line ran down its body and curled on the cat's legs, while other came out of its chest, bowed over its head, and continue down to its tail to form a treble clef. Enjolras lowered his head to look at the temporary tattoo from upside and his mouth hung slightly open in amazement. "This is... Fuck, it's impressive."

"Not really," Grantaire mumbled with a shrug. "It's kinda lame, actually."

Enjolras wanted to say how much that wasn't true, how it really was impressive that after years of not trying, he could put out something incredibly beautiful in so little time. But he knew that would lead to an endless discussion. Instead, he leaned forward to where Grantaire was still kneeling between his legs and cradled his face in his hands, kissing him softly on the lips. "I love it."

He smiled fondly and ran his fingers along the other's sideburns, where a couple of premature grey hairs were already showing up and that Cosette kept insisting on dyeing. "You're a young musical sensation!" she'd cried one time, chasing him around her living room. "Come back here and let me fix it!" But Grantaire had run out of the room, followed by Cosette's exasperated grunt, and Enjolras was grateful. He liked them, they looked good on him.

The blond rested both hands on the nape of Grantaire's neck and pulled him up for another kiss; the pace was slow and tender, like they had till the end of times to savor their lover’s lips. Grantaire was still on his knees and refused to stand up, no matter how much Enjolras tugged at his t-shirt; he only scoot closer, pushing Enjolras gently until the blond's back was resting on the couch, and let his hands wander up his legs.

"I find myself in a pretty good position right now," he said, leaving a trail of kisses where his fingers had been, taking care of not touching the fake tattoo. He reached Enjolras' black boxer briefs and nuzzled at the bulge in his crotch, humming his content as he licked and mouthed the underlined of Enjolras' cock.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"No, who do you think I am?"

Enjolras' soft moans escaped between his lips against his will and it required all his self-control to keep his hips in place. Grantaire snuck his fingers down the waistband of the blond's underwear and took him in his hand, giving a couple of lazy strokes as he moved up Enjolras' body, leaving open kisses behind him. Enjolras' hands, that'd been clenching the cushions under his legs, found their way up Grantaire's arms to his shoulders, where they grasped him firmly and pulled him down until his boyfriend was forced to let go of Enjolras' dick and settle on the blond's lap.

The blond could feel Grantaire's hot breath over the skin of his neck when he lowered his hand to the space between them and began rubbing him over his jeans. Enjolras was hard already -as it usually happened when his skillful boyfriend took care of things-, and made a point of making him feel the same, curling his fingers around the shaft of Grantaire's cock through the denim. As he nipped at his sensitive neck and placed a hand on the small of his back to encourage him to roll his hips up against him, Grantaire sighed in his ear: “Would you fuck me?”

“Okay,” Enjolras said loud and clear.

“What?” Grantaire asked in turn, pulled out of his stupor by Enjolras’ determined voice.

“Backing off already?” Enjolras said, suspecting that maybe Grantaire hadn’t meant to say it at loud, judging by the look on his face half confused and half aroused. It was an uncommon occurrence that Grantaire asked to be on the receiving end -Enjolras wasn’t sure why exactly, but truth was he always forgot to offer and it seemed Grantaire had accepted it just like that. Enjolras knew, though, Grantaire enjoyed switching so… yeah, maybe he was also into it by now. “Uhm... It's okay if you don't... want," he finished awkwardly.

"No! Fuck, yes. Here?" Enjolras held back his laughter and shrugged suggestively at Grantaire. "Okay. Wait here, I'll be right back."

Enjolras saw Grantaire practically running out of the room, pulling at his clothes until he was in only his boxers. He walked back inside holding their bottle of lube and a condom he then threw on the couch next to Enjolras. He remained still in front of the blond for a few seconds, breathing deeply before smirking. "Come here already," Enjolras demanded lightheartedly.

Grantaire laughed and climbed back up Enjolras' lap, going for his lips immediately after. Enjolras could feel his hard cock pressing against him and lifted his hips instinctively in search of more friction.

"This' gonna be good," Grantaire murmured. "Wanna prep me or you'd rather I do it myself?"

"I'll do it."

They discarded their underwear and, once Grantaire was settled back again on Enjolras' lap, he left all his weight fall over his boyfriend's chest as he wrapped his arms around his neck. He rolled his hips slowly, rubbing his hardening cock against Enjolras' own, and paying more attention to the the feeling of their lips pressed together than the pleasure growing between them. Enjolras ran his hands up Grantaire's thighs and grabbed his ass, teasing his entrance with a finger to force a broken gasp from the man sitting on his lap.

"Ready?" Enjolras asked, feeling emboldened by Grantaire's teeth grazing his neck.

Grantaire hummed a 'yes' into his ear and he uncapped the lube, pouring some on his hand and accidentally spilling a few drops over Grantaire's lower back due to the awkward position. He warmed it between his fingers before rubbing the tip of one of them down Grantaire's crack. He was gentle and a little bit clumsy, but Grantaire was patient with him and seemed to be enjoying it. He thrust the first digit inside and Grantaire reciprocated with a low moan and a firm roll of his hips.

By the time the third finger poked the tight ring of muscle, Enjolras began to thrust them in faster, chasing Grantaire's pleasure. He, however, didn't even try to match Enjolras enthusiasm and instead kept his hips rolling shallowly as he smirked down at Enjolras, who was losing his head over the sweet friction between their dicks. When neither of them could stand it any longer, he gripped Grantaire's hips and twisted them on the couch. The black-haired man was now lying on the cushions, trying to laugh in between breathy moans, with a very eager Enjolras between his legs.

"Oh, fuck,” Grantaire gasped, digging his nails in Enjolras' back when he managed to hit his prostate.

"I'm going to turn you around, is that okay?", the blond asked. When Grantaire nodded his approval, Enjolras withdrew from him and guided him until he was facing the couch.

Grantaire bent over it without a hesitation and looked over his shoulder. "Anytime you want," he offered, shaking his ass.

Enjolras rolled his eyes but lined himself up and thrust in slowly, caressing his boyfriend's hipbone before holding on to him for support. Enjolras pressed one of his hands over Grantaire's ribs and prompted him to straighten his back until he was leaning against his chest. Moaning gravely, Grantaire's brought his arm up and tangled his fingers in the hair strands at the nape of Enjolras' neck.

They moved in sync, building the pace between each thrust until their moans and gasps of pleasure mingled with the air. Grantaire's other hand held onto his ass to bring him closer, deeper, and Enjolras increased the speed and force of his thrusts; he could feel Grantaire's heartbeat banging against the hand he'd placed over his pectorals and his own ringing in his ears.

"Wait, wait, wait," Grantaire asked in a haste. "I'm gonna -ah- I'm gonna come if-" His sentence was cut out by a low grunt as he came untouched, spilling all over himself. Enjolras kissed his shoulder and rubbed his belly soothingly, waiting for him to regain his breath. "Fuck, that's unfair," he hissed when Enjolras pulled out of him and sat back down on the couch.

Grantaire looked down at the carpet where a few drops of cum had landed between his legs. "That's gonna be a bitch to clean off," Enjolras commented, disposing the condom into the trash can and jacking himself off lazily.

"Yeah, so is going to be that couch."

He sat down next to Enjolras a bit the lobe of his ear. Hi hand traveled down his body until it joined the blond's own hand at the base of his cock. He stroked him quickly, nodding approvingly every time Enjolras moaned into his lips. He was close when he pulled out of Grantaire, so it didn't take long before he too was coming over their joined hands. "Now we're even," Grantaire said, grabbing his shirt to wipe their mess as best as he could.  
  
He snuggled next to Enjolras and buried his nose in the blond hair. "You rubbed off my tattoo," he commented casually against Enjolras' skin.

Enjolras' eyes diverted down to his thigh and indeed, there was a big smudge of ink on it, where the cat Grantaire had drawn on it was barely recognizable. "In any case, your ass did it, not me."

Grantaire let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in the junction between Enjolras' neck and shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll try it again some other time."

"That means you're going back to business?"

"We'll see about that, okay?"

There were many things Enjolras didn't understand about Grantaire. Like the fact that he still wore his old Converse and that t-shirt Jehan had told him once Grantaire already had when they met twelve years ago; Grantaire had the same basic wardrobe since he was 22, but spent thousands of dollars in a new guitar for Enjolras' birthday. The blond loved those contradictions; they were what made him so fascinating, even when Grantaire did his hardest to deny it. Enjolras was dying to tell him that, but Grantaire was already asleep when he looked up at him. It was fine, though, he'd tell him in the morning. There was no rush.

 

~~

 

But he never told him. He was always waiting for the perfect time, and instead had let pass a bunch of obvious opportunities; he was now catching up with all the things he could've done better...

Enjolras put 'Red' down and walked over to Grantaire's guitar. He squatted in front of it, just staring, as if that would give him an answer as to what to do now. He wished at least he could be mad at Grantaire for taking everything out of context, for losing his head over something that wasn't there, and making this mess, but he wasn't. He mostly felt confused and reluctant to let (him) go; he'd waited eight years and… he couldn’t believe it was over, just like that.

"Hey, chief", a melodic voice came through the door to interrupt his reverie.

He lifted his eyes to find Musichetta peeking inside the room with her dark, curly hair like a halo around her head. He stood up to greet her, a little surprised to see her there so late. "I didn't- were you at your office just now?"

"Oh, yeah," she said with an empty laugh. "The press is giving us hell with all this fuss around you. Éponine had a personal thing to take care of so I came here to see if I could tune down some of the hate they’re throwing at Jehan now but, no such luck," she shrugged off, smiling.

"The... What?" Enjolras mumbled, completely at loss of what she was talking about. Musichetta filled him up on what he'd missed and he felt guilty after hearing Jehan had been thrown under the bus because of them. The team was working extra time to keep everything under control in the middle of all this mess, he was impressed.

"So..." she adventured once they both sat down in a couple of chairs. "Are you planning on telling the press any time soon that you and Grantaire broke up?" she asked, faking innocence. Enjolras glared at her, not amused by her words. "Just kidding. If it helps, Grantaire doesn't want to do it, either."

"Really?" That was weird, considering how eager he'd been of leaving no trace of him in Enjolras apartment the last time he saw him. "Why's that?"

"I think he's waiting for you to do it yourself. And, maybe, he's hoping you won't."

Enjolras let out a frustrated grunt and stood up, passing in front of Musichetta. "I don't get it! He was the one that broke up with me, why doesn't he just finish what he started for once?"

"He's a handful, isn't he?" Musichetta smirked, knowing perfectly fine that Enjolras frustration wasn't entirely true; he was relieved to hear Grantaire didn't really want this either. "You know," she continued after a moment. "I met Grantaire under very particular circumstances. They were trying to recruit my boyfriends for their band and, well, you know how that went. The thing is I probably don't know him as well as Jehan does, or Éponine, who's mostly the one who deals with him when things get rough. But I believe I've been around him long enough to know he has serious issues. Issues that won't go away with the magic of your love. You can't fix him, and that's just how it is."

"I know that," Enjolras said defensively. He'd noticed that, too, thank you. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I know for a fact that neither of you want this situation you're in right now, but are too afraid of letting things just flow on their own." She gave pause to let the words sink in before continuing, grasping Enjolras' hand with her own. "Grantaire loves you, but he thinks he's not good for you. He think he's hurting you somehow."

"He's convinced I don't want to be with him, isn't he? And I don't know how to change that."

"He doesn't believe anyone wants to be with him, really, and that's why you should use your words, Enjolras. Even if you think it's redundant or unnecessary, or that actions speak more than words, it's always nice to hear you care about him. And he needs it."

So that's where he'd gone wrong. He always thought it was better to show him he cared than just saying it, but maybe the message had lost somewhere between them. He'd given him a key of his apartment, but never actually asked him to move in, thinking Grantaire would do it when he was ready. The praises, the tender words, everything he didn't say because he thought it made him uncomfortable... Well, that made sense. It was more complicated than he'd anticipated.

Sometimes, Enjolras thought that, if he could have any kind of relationship, he'd like Combeferre and Éponine's. They move around each other with ease, they're not clingy in public, and when they fought, it wasn’t loud and obnoxious like everyone else's; they spoke a different language, one that only they knew with soft smiles and unashamed caresses. Their love seemed much more mature, like they'd been married for ages, and Enjolras wondered how'd they managed to get there in so little time. He figured it had to do more with them as individuals than the actual relationship. He would never have that with Grantaire, but, somehow, a part of him didn't want it. It wasn't them, it wasn't what they were, and that didn't make it any less good in its own terms; they were a storm together, for good or for bad, for better or for worse.

"You think there's still a chance for us?" he asked with a nervous laugh.

"Of course there is!" Musichetta assured, way too amused by Enjolras' blushed cheeks. "But if you really want to go back with him, you need to be aware of what you're getting yourself into; something like this would probably happen again. No one will blame you if you decide this is too much for you, but I don't think Grantaire could handle it. You'll have to work every day and it won't be easy. Just... don't make a move until you're sure, okay?" She waited for Enjolras to promise he'll think about it before standing up, holding some papers against her chest. "Go home," she advised, hugging him tightly. "You shouldn't be working so late."

He nodded, but had no intention to go anywhere. Partially, because it still felt odd to be alone in his own apartment, but most of all he couldn't stop thinking of Musichetta's words; she had pushed him in the right direction as to what to do now about Grantaire. He knew what he was getting himself into, he didn't need to analyze it, and was pretty sure that was what he wanted; what he really needed to think about was an effective way to get it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, I'm terrible at writing porn... But! That was the gratuitous fluff/smut thing I'd promised ages ago, FUCKING FINALLY!
> 
> Anyway, a few quick notes:
> 
>   1. [Enjolras' tattoo](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/93/44/a5/9344a5ed817b0f49f08820783c76ca93.jpg), because I also suck at describing things.  
> 
>   2. I don't remember if I've told you this before, but you can find me on tumblr [here](http://anastasiawritingfics.tumblr.com/)! In case you want to come say hi. And while you're at it, you can see [amazing fanart](http://anastasiawritingfics.tumblr.com/tagged/S%3A+SC).  
> 
> 

> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head when they were closer to the bar's door, and wrapped an arm around Jehan's waist, guiding him to enter the building. The young man was protesting, trying to free himself from his friend's grip, and Grantaire saw out of the corner of his eye that Claquesous had caught them. Before they got lost inside the bar, Claquesous stepped out of his hiding and approached the door; he'd taken the bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a new job and it's killing me.
> 
> Sorry this took so long, we're really close to the end! Thanks for all the kudos and comments, you're amazing. I hope you enjoy this jumble!  
> P.S. There's a line of one of Green Day's new songs in here, let's see if someone catches it.
> 
>  **cw:** depression, mentions of alcoholism, self-destructive behavior, suicidal ideation, offensive language, and minor violence.

"Are you sure this gonna work?" Courfeyrac asked, chewing at his bottom lip with a nervous expression on his face.

"Yeah… I think so." Bahorel took a deep breath and smiled, trying to inspire some confidence to the rest of the men gathered in the living room, even though he was paler than what Jehan had ever seen him before. "The real question's what we're gonna do with Grantaire..."

"What about me?" A raspy voice came from the hallway and they turned in time to see Grantaire stopping at the door, arms crossed over his chest and blood-shot eyes staring angrily back at them.

Jehan watched the scene from the armchair at the end of the room, indecisive about whether to get up and try to calm Grantaire down or stay exactly where he was and hope for the better. His friend had looked better that morning, as Jehan had noticed after the light streaming through the curtains had made it impossible for them to keep sleeping. Jehan had felt Grantaire trembling between his arms throughout the entire time, a mess of contained anxiety and silent whimpers, but when their eyes met in the mornings, he'd smiled back at him, tiredly and not quit reaching his eyes but it was there.

They were in the middle of a light breakfast when Courfeyrac had knocked at their door. Jehan had been so gladly surprised to see him there that almost had followed his first instinct to pull him down for a hug. He'd repressed the feeling at the last moment, though, since he wasn't sure if Courf was okay with that; as far as he knew, he could be there to kick his ungrateful ass out of his life for good.

Grantaire, on the other hand, hadn't taken Courf's arrival with the same enthusiasm. The deep frown was back twisting his forehead as soon as he saw the man's wavy, brown hair peeking through the door and the atmosphere between them got heavy really quickly. Grunting under his breath, Grantaire had thrown his bowl into the sink and retreated to his room without sparing a glance to Courfeyrac. Jehan didn't understand his friend's attitude; he usually wasn't that harsh with his friends, not even when they really deserved it.

Jahan had had barely enough time to babble an awkward apology to Courfeyrac before the doorbell rang. This time, the redhead opened the door for Bahorel, who inevitably was there to remind everyone they still had things to solve with Claquesous. That was how Grantaire had found them once he decided to get out of his room: gathered in the living room, going over Bahorel's plan of action at the bar where Jehan was supposed to encounter Claquesous and deliver the money. He didn't look amused with it.

"Hey, man," Bahorel greeted him, his worried eyes scanning Grantaire. "We didn't know you'd woken up."

"What the fuck are you all doing here?"

The room at large exchanged a doubtful look before all the eyes were directed at Jehan. He felt judged, even though he knew they were respecting his decision of keeping Grantaire out of the whole thing. He scratched a small area on his left arm and said, "He knows".

Bahorel nodded knowingly and prepared to affront Grantaire. He'd known the man almost as long as Jehan and he knew what to do in such situations. While Jehan tended to approach Grantaire with tenderness and care, Bahorel was more straightforward, without being rude or hurtful. Jehan was so thankful he'd taken care of everything; it was coward of him, but he wasn't clearheaded enough to take things into his own hands.

"You don't have to worry about anything, okay? We have it handled, go back to sleep, dude."

"I didn't ask for a babysitter. Get the fuck out of here, I'll solve this."

"Okay," Feuilly intervened, sensing a fight coming up. "But we're going with you. All of us."

Courfeyrac giggled softly next to Jehan. "For a group that's aiming to go unnoticed, I don't think we're doing it right," he said, clearly trying to ease the tension.

"What are you here, then?" Grantaire retorted, angrily. "Nobody needs you."

Courfeyrac's smile disappeared instantly and he closed his mouth, completely lost at words. "'Aire," Jehan finally spoke up. "That was uncalled for-"

"Just go!" Grantaire shouted, startling them. "Everybody go, I got this, okay? This is none of your business, I'll solve it."

"Stop acting like a petulant child, would you?" Bahorel retorted calmly. "Fuck, man. You need to get a grip on your life already. Yes, you broke up with Enjolras and we're all sorry about that, but come on, dude." He approached Grantaire with resolution, not even batting an eye when the other man shrugged off the hand he'd placed on his shoulder. Bahorel rolled his eyes. "Listen, you don't have to do this alone, okay? Those grim days when there was no one else around but Jehan are over, y'know? We're going to help you, whether you like it or not. Now get on the couch and listen. This is what we're gonna do."

 

***

 

It was around 8pm when Éponine walked inside the Café Azelma had asked her to meet her. She decided to go alone, but Combeferre offered to wait for her in a Mall a few streets away, in case something didn't turn as expected. After sending a quick message to her boyfriend, Éponine chose a table near the door –to make it easier to run if necessary– and ordered a coffee. The place was nice, a little rustic for her taste, and she wondered if that was something she shared with Azelma. She shook her head, feeling ridiculous, but as simple as it might sound to other people, she’d always dreamt about having siblings, someone who shared her same hell, an accomplice in the mess that was her family.

She pulled out her cellphone to entertain herself, but didn’t have to wait long before Azelma –whom she, shamefully, had looked up online beforehand– entered the Café, observing her surroundings with bored eyes. Éponine couldn’t help noticing she was the complete opposite of her, at least in her appearance. While Éponine had got her father’s jet black hair that was impossible to control during the days when the weather was too humid, Azelma had silky, auburn strands that fell graciously over her left shoulder. And her eyes, highlighted by perfect winged eyeliner, were amber, similar to Jehan’s. She was nothing like Éponine or Thénardier, and that disappointed her a bit. She tried to convince herself that Azelma must have inherited her looks from her mother, though. That was a plausible possibility.

Azelma spotted her quickly and a soft smile spread over her face. "Éponine, I guess," she asked, approaching her and stretching her hand for her to shake.

"That's me. Please, take a seat." She waited until the other woman made herself comfortable on the chair across from her and ordered a Frappuccino before she tried to explain her situation. She used that moment to decide how to start and, opting for her programmed thinking, she went full business mode, convinced that approaching her with the complete force of what she was feeling wouldn't be appropriate. "Thank you for coming. I hope I didn't intrude too much in your schedule."

Azelma gave her a funny look and took a sip of her drink. "You didn't," she stated. "I'm actually glad you called. We can finally sort out all this crap, right?"

That took Éponine by surprise. She didn't recall having mentioned anything about the subject she wanted to discuss with her. "Excuse me? I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Well, I wasn't exactly waiting for you to call, but I was sure something like this would happen," Azelma said, shrugging. "The real question was when. I thought it'd be sooner, to be completely honest. Why did it take you so long?"

"Okay, I'm not following you. Did someone offer you an interview or something? Is this about the bands?"

Azelma's knitted her brows. "I thought this was personal?" she asked in turn. "Didn't you want to talk about your father?"

"What? How do you know...?" Éponine trailed off.

"Shit." Azelma bit her lip and after a deep breath, shifted on her chair to be closer to Éponine; her voice was almost a whisper when she talked. "My mother told me about your father. Well, our father, if you like," she began, wary of Éponine's reaction. "She told me about their… uh, affair and how he left when he found out my mother was pregnant. I only got to see him a couple of times, but my mother said he had a family, a daughter. I was expecting any of you to contact us at some point."

Éponine took a moment to process the new information. "You knew about me?"

"Yep," Azelma nodded, popping the 'p'. "He didn't tell you about me, did he?"

Éponine shook her head. "You were in one of my father's business books," she said. "What was that money for? Was he paying for your mother's silence?"

"You could say that. My mom sort of threatened him with spilling the beans if he didn't take care of our needs. She made sure we had everything we wanted and, ultimately, he assured me this job before he ran away."

"You know where he is?" Éponine rushed to ask, more out of habit than real interest or worry about his wellbeing.

"No idea, sorry."

Éponine clenched her teeth. She wasn't hurt by what she'd just found out, she felt humiliated. People talked too much about her as it was, she could only imagine what they'd told about her regarding this information. Her father's reputation had affected her career at every step; hadn't been for Cosette and the strings she moved with Valjean, she'd never made it. People had treated her like trash because his father had done the same and hadn't even tried to hide it from the public eyes. Now the insults she'd heard growing up made more sense. They thought she was just like her father.

"Who else knows about this?" she finally asked, clearing her throat and swallowing down the rage.

"Officially? Maybe just his accountant. It was probably a well-known rumor, though." Éponine watched her take a sip of her drink; she had long forgotten about her own and, with a grimace of distaste, pushed the mug away from her. "Can I ask you something?" Éponine nodded. "How did you find out about all this?"

Éponine pondered whether to tell her about Gavroche or not. A part of her was worried she'll try to talk to him and overthrow all the ground she'd won with the kid; another feared Azelma wouldn't care at all about Gavroche. That last one seemed worryingly possibly. "I found a boy…" she began, testing the waters. Azelma cocked her head and folded her arms over the table. "He, uh… It turns out he's also our brother."

"Holy shit. He was a busy man," Azelma snorted. "So... have you tell him yet? That you're her sister?"

Éponine squinted her eyes at Azelma's words. She'd excluded herself on that sentence, and that gave Éponine a solid guess of where she was standing in this scenario; Azelma didn't want anything to do with them. "No, but I will," she stated. "He lives on the streets, I'm going to adopt him."

Azelma's eyebrows rose to her hairline."Cool," she said after a few seconds. "Well, if that's all you wanted to talk about, I'll go now. Loads of things to do, you know how it is." She took her bag and stand up, leaving some cash on the table to pay her coffee. "See ya."

"Wait," Éponine requested before she walked away. "You knew we were sisters, why didn't you try to find me or contact me? I would've liked to know you were out there, that I had a sister."

"Why, though?" Azelma shrugged. "We didn't grow up together, there was nothing linking us."

"We're sisters-"

"Look, Éponine." Azelma sat back down across from her, and licked her lips. It was the first time throughout their entire conversation that she looked genuinely serious. "You don't have any responsibility with me. The same way you don't have it with the boy, either. You don't have to make it up for what Thénardier did. He was the one that abandoned us, not you."

"... I won't let Gav on the streets."

"I know, just make sure you're doing it for the right reasons." She stood up and walked a few steps before turning around again to face Éponine. "Hey, I know I said we weren't sisters but... that doesn't mean we can't be friends, right?"

Éponine looked up, hopeful. "Yeah, I- I guess so."

"So, if you ever wanna go grab a beer or something... call me, alright?"

She said goodby with her hand and walked out of the Café. Éponine stayed there for a little longer, alone, feeling emptier than when she first entered the place.

 

***

 

Bahorel's plan was simple and straight to the point to ensure everyone's safety. Claquesous had demanded they met on the back alley of the bar he'd mention to Jehan during their encounter in the elevator. He wanted the privacy a place full of hoodlums provided, away from any security camera and surrounded by guys that wouldn't give a fuck about a pop-y artist, not to mention he could get out easily, scurrying between the shadows once the money was delivered. Grantaire would go with Jehan and hide at the alley entrance, while Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Bahorel waited across the street, ready to call the police at Grantaire's sign. In and out, just like that.

But Grantaire had another plan in mind.

Before he walked into the living room to interrupt their planning, Courfeyrac was the one in charge of walking with Jehan and give the sign to call the cops; Grantaire wasn’t having it, though, so he forced them to let him switch places with the drummer under threat of doing everything without their help. They’d accepted, if only to calm him down and, when the time came, he went with Jehan to the bar, closely followed by the rest of them. He'd been drinking inside his room after Courfeyrac showed up and he was a little bit tipsy, but also felt braver, bolder; this would be so fucking easy.

They were on their way there when he spotted Claquesous hiding behind a wall and poking his head out of the corner that lead to the back alley, probably too anxious to wait someplace else where he couldn’t been seen. Grantaire was walking a little behind Jehan under Bahorel’s instructions, but as soon as he noticed Claquesous' head tuning to their direction, he began to shorten the distance. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head when they were closer to the bar’s door, and wrapped an arm around Jehan's waist, guiding him to enter the building. The young man was protesting, trying to free himself from his friend’s grip, and Grantaire saw out of the corner of his eye that Claquesous had caught them. Before they got lost inside the bar, Claquesous stepped out of his hiding and approached the door; he’d taken the bait.

"What are you doing?!" Jehan yelled when they stopped close to the pool table. The noise inside the bar was piercing Grantaire’s head and Jehan’s voice sounded distant to his ears. "This wasn’t the plan, do you want to get us killed?!"

Grantaire didn’t answer, his eyes focused on the door where a bulky figure was making its way between the mass of people in their direction. He knew the asshole would find them easily with Jehan’s bright, red hair standing out between the dark colors surrounding them. When Claquesous was close enough to them, he took Jehan’s arm and tried to pull him up to him despite Grantaire’s firm grasp around the young man’s waist. The convict grunted angrily.

"Fuck off, dude," he yelled, fangs at display like a rabid dog. "This one's mine. You can have him when I’m done with-" He cut off his threat when he noticed the man before him was strangely familiar. "What the fuck?"

Claquesous let go of Jehan's arm, pale and overwhelmed by the surprise, like he'd seen a ghost. "What's up, man?" Grantaire greeted him, as if he were talking to a long lost friend instead of the man that had spat a death threat the last time they saw each other.

"This wasn't the deal, fuckard!", he yelled at Jehan, who was now safely standing next to Grantaire after he'd released him. "You were supposed to come alone!"

"That's not a really nice thing to say," Grantaire began, cocky and confident. "Jail didn't sit you well, did it? You look like shit, man."

"Shut up," Claquesous yelled. "Give me the money, now". He pushed Grantaire and his lower back hit the pool table. The men gathered there spat a few curses.

"Yeah, I decided we won't give you anything," Grantaire shrugged.

He felt something metallic colliding against his ribs and he looked down instinctively. Claquesous had pulled out a gun and was now digging the barrel in Grantaire's flesh above his stomach. "Look, princess," he snarled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. Claquesous showed a gross smile at Grantaire's reaction to the old nickname and the black-haired man winced with disgust. "I'm done with your stupid games, ya hear me? They're stepping on my heels and I'm gonna get the fuck out of this town now. So, either you give me the damn money or I'll take it out of your cold fingers after killing you and your whore here. Are we clear?" he said to Grantaire's face, pushing the gun into his ribs until it was painful.

He wasn't expecting the gun. He'd entered the bar and pushed Claquesous buttons in hopes of infuriate him and that they could beat the shit out of each other. But right now, with the gun between them, he realized what he really wanted was the physical pain to distract him from the other he felt in his chest. It was the second time someone had him at gunpoint, but unlike ten years ago, he wasn't scared. He wasn't thinking about Jehan standing right next to him, or about the music and constant chattering around them. He wasn't thinking about Claquesous' frantic eyes or the way the hand holding the gun against his ribs was shaking; the only thing in his mind was a distorted image of his own fingers curling around the metal grip and how easy it would be to pull the trigger. A wicked smile spread over his lips and Claquesous backed away from him a few steps.

"I'm not a scared little boy anymore, dude. Why don't you just shoot me?"

"Grantaire!" Jehan warned but he didn't listened. "Grantaire, please!" his friend pleaded, taking him by the arm, but Grantaire had made up his mind. He pushed Jehan away, gently, making sure he didn’t get involved in the mess, and faced Claquesous with resolution.

When the other man regained some control over himself, he lifted the gun to Grantaire's chest. A man behind him saw it and placed his own hand in his back pocket, probably getting ready in case a fight broke out. "I'm fucking serious, I'll shoot you."

"So hurry up, I want a better way to die." He flipped him off and could see the anger reaching Claquesous' eyes; it was there where everything turned into slow motion.

He felt Claquesous' body moving slightly away from him, the expression on his face one of pure rage. But it was a strange kind of rage, one that Grantaire had seen in another face, one he’d thought he'd completely forgotten about. The man before him was hesitating, the same way Montparnasse had done it many years ago and, for a moment, Grantaire thought Claquesous would shoot himself, too. It almost felt like a déjà vu. Claquesous' sunken eyes looked as scared as Montparnasse's were that night -Grantaire remember vividly now-, but for entirely different reasons; he feared for his life, whereas Montparnasse had been scared of keep on living, just like Grantaire was at the moment. He'd exchanged places with his old friend, except he wasn’t in control; he wasn't the one holding the gun. If he wanted it to happen, he had to force it to happen.

He snorted and smacked Claquesous' hand away to mock him. He walked past him but before he managed more than a few steps, the convict took him by the arm and forced him to turn around. His nostrils fluttered with anger before he lifted the gun again, pointing at Grantaire's chest once more.

A bullet. That was all it’ll take to stop his brain from running to torturing places: to the friends he'd wronged, to the things he’d never done or said. Jehan would be so disappointed in him, he'd broken up all his promises… And Enjolras. What would he say when he found out about this? Would he be mad at him or relieved that he was finally gone? Grantaire closed his eyes. He regreted having taken a few pills after leaving the house, he guessed it was thanks to them that he didn't feel the pain when the gunshot ripped the air in the middle of the crowded bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Revolution Radio came out last week, eh? Yeah...


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _~… The reports inform that there was a fight in a local bar located in the west side of Oakland early this morning. According to some witnesses, Grantaire, lead singer and founder of the punk band Sassafras Roots, was involved. There are still no details of his current condition, but there are rumors of a gunshot at the inside of the building. We will continue reporting. ~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, sorry. This chapter has been ready for a while but my job has been hellish lately and I hadn't had energy to work on the fic.
> 
> But it's finally here! Enjoy!

_~… The reports inform that there was a fight in a local bar located in the west side of Oakland early this morning. According to some witnesses, Grantaire, lead singer and founder of the punk band Sassafras Roots, was involved. There are still no details of his current condition, but there are rumors of a gunshot at the inside of the building. We will continue reporting. ~_

 

Enjolras tapped his fingers on the wheel of his car as he waited in a traffic light. He was on his way to the Hospital after Cosette had called him saying Grantaire had gotten shot. She hadn't said anything else despite Enjolras multiple questions, and that was driving him out of his mind. The news on the radio weren't helpful, either; no one knew exactly what had happened, how badly hurt Grantaire was or if he was still… He thought that was probably Éponine and Valjean's doing and he wished they, for once, didn't do their job so damn well.

He shook his head, grunting when the light finally changed, and stepped on the gas. He was close to the Hospital, and exactly a block before the main entrance, he saw the street was occupied by a large number of reporters, probably waiting for updates on Grantaire. A few cops and members of the Hospital staff were trying to disperse them and clear the way for the ambulances that were about to arrive. Enjolras felt disgusted; those vultures were capable of anything, even at the cost of someone's life.

He turned around and drove to the next corner, dialing Cosette's number to let her know he was outside. She directed him to one of the service doors where, surprisingly, Combeferre and a nurse were waiting for him. "How is he?" Enjolras asked as soon as he was out of his car.

"Come on," Combeferre said instead, pulling Enjolras by the arm until he was inside the building. "They keep asking about you, you can't be seen out here." Combeferre didn't answer his previous question and Enjolras almost wanted to scream in desperation. The nurse looked at both sides of the street before closing the heavy, metal door and leaded the way through a narrow corridor. "He's fine," Combeferre added as they walked behind the nurse. "They haven't tell us exactly how bad he's hurt, but he's fine."

While they passed door after door, Combeferre told him what he knew of the story, but it wasn't much except that Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Bahorel, and Jehan were also involved and were currently talking with the cops at the station. No one had seen them yet, but since Éponine was Grantaire's emergency number, she'd been contacted from the ambulance when they were taking Grantaire to the hospital; Éponine had spread the news within their group and they'd agreed to meet there.

"We're still waiting for news about the guys, but we've got nothing yet," Combeferre finished, stopping outside a big waiting room where the rest of their friends were already gathered, including Valjean, who was talking fast into the phone. It seemed Enjolras was the last one to arrive.

"You made it!" Cosette said, rising from her chair and running up to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his back affectionately. He felt a little of tension leaving his body, but not enough to forgive her for scaring the hell out of him.

"I'm going to kill you," he whispered when they broke apart.

"We had to make sure you got here quickly."

"Yeah, but maybe 'Grantaire got shot, come to the hospital' wasn't the best option. Anything else would've worked just fine."

Cosette shrugged faking innocence and hugged him again. "He's in surgery right now," she whispered into his ear. Enjolras swallowed hard and let her guide him to a chair. The silence in the room was frightening and even when they tried to be positive, things weren't looking that good at the moment.

When the doctor entered the waiting room some time later, they all stood up to receive the news. "I assume you're mister Grantaire's family," she asked skeptically. "I'm afraid I can only deliver the information to a close relative-"

"I'm his boyfriend," Enjolras' jumped in, without really thinking of his words. "We're… engaged," he winced at the lie, hoping the doctor didn't notice.

"Okay, then," she agreed. "Your boyfriend got shot in the shoulder. The bullet went in and out through the deltoid muscle," she explained, pointing at her own shoulder to illustrate her words. "Fortunately, there weren't any broken bones and the muscle received minor damage. Your boyfriend was very lucky, mister…?"

"Enjolras," he supplied helpfully.

"Mister Enjolras. The bullet's path was clean. We already checked for any remaining splinter and sutured the wound to help it heal. It'll take him a few weeks to be fully recovered."

"Excuse me," Enjolras dared to ask. "Is he… His arm. It'll be alright?"

"Yes, of course," the doctor answered with a soft smile. "As I said, the bullet didn't hit any bone, it was closer to be just a scratch. As soon as the wound heals, a little rehab would be enough to bring him back on stage." Enjolras nodded, feeling his face slightly warmer than before under the doctor's knowing smile. "If there aren't any more questions, I'll leave you now. Due to mister Grantaire's ethyl state during the surgery, we had to draw on some particular anesthetic management, but it should be almost entirely out of his system in no time. We're moving him into a room in the next hour, I'll let you know when you a can see him. Excuse me."

The doctor shook Enjolras' hand and walked out of the room. Cosette grabbed Enjolras' arm and make him sit down between her and Combeferre, resting her head on the blond's shoulder as they saw Valjean finally hanging on the phone. "Good night, Enjolras," the older man greeted him, patting his shoulder. "I was talking with our lawyer. The guys have finished with the interrogation at the Police Station and will be here soon."

"So didn't get arrested after all," Éponine, who had been really quiet since Enjolras arrived, commented.

"Lucky for us, no. They didn't get arrested," Valjean informed them, earning some relieved sighs from the room at large. "The cops still want to talk to Grantaire but I don't think that's a problem. The witnesses testified against Claquesous. If it hadn't been for Bahorel, things may have been a lot worse."

"Worse? What does that mean?"

But they didn't get to find out since, in that moment, Jehan and the rest of the guys came through the door, escorted by a police officer. Bahorel and Feuilly were walking at the front with their hands intertwined, suppressing their tired yawns and ignoring the cop's scornful looks; Bahorel had a big bruise on his right cheekbone, probably the result of the altercation at the bar. As soon as they saw their friends standing up to welcome them, Bahorel lifted both hands in a gesture of victory, dragging Feuilly's arm along with his. It was like they were coming back from war and Enjolras couldn't suppress a sincere smile. Behind them, Courfeyrac and Jehan were walking a few steps away from each other. They looked dead tired, and judging by the big gap between them, something wasn't entirely okay with them.

Musichetta was the first to react, approaching the newcomers and hugging Jehan, who seemed more distressed tan the rest of them; his face was worryingly pale and his lips had a purplish tone, like he’d been freezing outdoors. When ‘Chetta’s arms surrounded his shoulders, the younger man hid his face in her neck, letting a bit of tension to finally slipped off of his body. “Are you hurt?” the woman asked once they broke apart, guiding Jehan and the rest of the group back the plastic chairs.

Jehan looked down at blood on his shirt and shook his head. “No,” he sighed tiredly, flopping down on a chair next to Musichetta. “I’m fine”.

They stayed in silence for a while. A nurse crossed the door to inform them Grantaire was now in a room, but they wouldn’t be able to see him until the police officers had finished the interrogation. Valjean stood up from his chair, pulling out his cell phone and demanding they waited until their lawyer arrived. Enjolras let him handle the situation, knowing perfectly well the old man knew what to do.

About an hour later, the cops left Grantaire’s room, saying his statement coincided with the evidence they had and, therefore, he was free of any charges, under the allegation of self-defense, although he and Jehan would be call to declare in Claquesous’ trial. “You can now go to see him”, a nurse let them know. “He’s recovering; don’t stress him too much, please.”

They hurried to the room, being Éponine the first to reach the door, and walked in one by one as calmly as they could; Enjolras was the last one to enter, remaining by the entrance where he could have full view of the scene, but also stay mostly hidden behind his friends. “Hey, big boy,” Éponine greeted him, walking to the headboard. “How’re you feeling?”

“Groggy”, Grantaire said, taking a deep breath and suppressing a pained grunt when Éponine helped him to sit up. “Wow, you’re all here.”

Grantaire’s eyes were now scanning the room, but Enjolras avoided to look at him directly, fearing what the man could read in his eyes. While the long wait sitting on the plastic chairs, added to the immense worry for Grantaire had cool him down some, now that he knew he was safe and sound, Enjolras could feel anger growing inside him. He wanted to yell at Grantaire for being so reckless and scaring the hell out of him.

But he wouldn’t do it.

Grantaire didn’t need it right now, and Enjolras had made the decision to be less explosive around Grantaire; he didn’t want him to feel guilty for his outburst. Keeping some distance wasn’t what Enjolras desired, but it was the best for the both of them, at least for now.

He lifted his head when he noticed the room had fallen into a deadly silence and he saw hazel eyes looking at him. Grantaire seemed ashamed and apologetic, and Enjolras felt the color reaching his face, like he'd been caught doing something wrong. Grantaire -as well as the rest of the room, judging by how they were all looking at him- was waiting for any form of acknowledge of his part, maybe even reassurance, if he was reading Grantaire's expression correctly, and Enjolras felt on the spotlight all of a sudden. He fidgeted with the hem of his jacket.

"I'm really glad you're okay."

He wanted to smack his head into the nearest wall as soon as he pronounced the words, but refrained from doing it and instead clenched his hands into tight fists. That wasn't what he wanted to tell, not because it wasn't true, but because it wasn't enough. But Grantaire smiled softly either way and nodded his head, probably resigned to never getting anything from Enjolras.

"We're all happy you're okay," Cosette added, salvaging the situation. "And now we're going to shower you with affection, I hope you're aware of that."

"Please, don't."

As Cosette covered Grantaire's entire face with little kisses, Enjolras felt his cellphone vibrating with an incoming call. He pulled it out to see who it was and smiled at the familiar name. He caught Combeferre's attention to let him know he was going to take the call and left the room, pressing the phone against his ear.

"Hey, buddy."

" _Enj!_ " Armando's voice greeted him from the other end of the line. " _I saw about the bar thing on the news, are you guys fine?_ "

Enjolras froze at that. He hadn't really expected Armando to worry about it, and by the tone of his voice, he was genuinely concerned. Enjolras couldn't suppress a smile. "Yeah, yeah," he hurried to answer. "I was... I wasn't there, it was just- Grantaire got shot."

" _What?! Is he okay?_ "

"Yeah, it was just a scratch. We're at the hospital right now. They're gonna discharge him tomorrow morning."

He heard a long, relieved sigh. " _That's great_ ," Armando commented, with a hint of a smile in his voice. " _Have you fixed everything with him yet?_ " he asked out of the blue, taking Enjolras by surprise once more.

"Uh... No, not yet."

" _But you will_."

"Yes, I'm working on it."

" _Working on it, that sounds promising_ ," Armando laughed at Enjolras' hesitant voice and the blond felt like a scolded child. He absolutely did not pout at that. " _Let me know when you do it, alright? I'd like to meet him. And personally apologize to him._ "

This time, Armando's words made him frown. "You didn't do anything."

" _Still, I'd like to talk to him._ "

"Okay… I'll let him know then."

" _Good. Well, sorry, I gotta go._ " Armando said, remorseful. " _But keep me updated, okay? I want to hear from you two._ "

"Will do..." Enjolras said and before his friend could hang up, he blurted out "Armando?"

" _Yeah?_ "

"Thank you."

There was a short silence at the other end of the line, but Enjolras forced himself to wait. He'd meant it, he was immensely grateful for having his friend back, and the fact that Armando was so worried about Grantaire only increased his gratitude. Armando was someone Enjolras had always looked up to, and this felt like approval of his part; even after all those years, it filled Enjolras with pride.

" _We're family, remember?_ " Armando said tenderly.

"Yes, we are. See you around, okay?"

" _Okay. Goodbye._ "

 

***

 

  
Enjolras came back to the room just in time to hear Bahorel, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac taking turns to tell the full story of what had happened that night. Jehan watched from his spot at the headboard as the guys talked about their plan to deliver the money, and how Feuilly had decided to call the cops after they saw Claquesous walking behind Grantaire and Jehan, while Courf and Bahorel followed the trio inside the bar. Jehan knew what came after in the story, and he didn't think it the best to talk about it in front of Grantaire. When he was about to say as much, Grantaire grasped the sleeve of his shirt to stop him. "It's okay," he whispered. "I need to hear it". Jehan nodded in agreement and focused his attention back to Bahorel, who was talking nonstop, completely unaware of the exchange between Jehan and Grantaire.

"… And when I finally spotted them, this guy had the gun pointing at Grantaire's chest. So I ran over there, right? But I didn't know what to do, like, I didn't want to accidentally hurt Grantaire or Jehan."

"Then what happened?" Bossuet asked, completely engrossed in the story. "He shot him on the shoulder, did he change his mind in the last minute?"

"Nah," Feuilly answered, smirking as he looked at his boyfriend. "Bahorel punched him when he was close enough and that diverted the shot."

The room fell into an astonished silence until Combeferre dare to break it. "… Did you just say he punched a runaway murderer with a loaded gun to save our friends?"

"Yeah…" Bahorel admitted. "I recognize it wasn't the smartest idea, especially because right after that a fight went loose in the bar but, you know, we'd run out of options."

"Thank God your aim is pretty good," Valjean commented.

"More like ‘Thank God I still remember my boxing classes’."

Courfeyrac, who'd been leaning against a farther wall, straightened out at the new information. "What do you mean by boxing classes? I need all the details." By the time Bahorel had finished talking about the matches and had casually mentioned he'd paid for the classes with the money he'd earned from his job as a stripper, Courfeyrac had completely lost it. "Hold the fuck up, you were a stripper? How come I didn't know about this?!" he demanded. "That's the kind of dirty details I need to know about my friends!"

"We should probably go and let you sleep," Joly told Grantaire when he perceived the high energy pumping through their friends. "They must be too much to handle right now."

"No, I'm fine," Grantaire insisted. "But there's no point in all of you staying over. I get you're really tired, too. Go home, I'll be fine, I promise."

They exchanged a worried look before nodding, even though no one made a move to leave the room. They felt uneasy about leaving him alone, and that gave Jehan the last push to offer his company. "Do you mind if I stay the night?"

Grantaire croaked an "okay" and nodded. That seemed enough for the rest of them and, one by one, said their goodbyes. They left the room way more relaxed, but before Courfeyrac could cross the door, Grantaire called his name. The drummer turned around and Jehan could see the line of his shoulders tensing, mimicking Jehan's own nervousness. He looked between the two men as Courf approached the bed at Grantaire's request, smiling as brightly as always; whether or not it was genuine was another thing entirely.

Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I'd like to… apologize. For what I said yesterday?"

Courf's eyes widened in surprise and he shook his head immediately. "No, it's fine," he said dismissively. "I get it, really. It's okay."

"No, I was wrong," Grantaire insisted, lowering his eyes. "I don't quite remember what I said but… I was mad and took it out on you. That wasn't fair."

Courfeyrac glanced at Jehan, uncertainty written all over his face. Jehan shook his head, letting him know it wasn't worth to keep arguing with Grantaire. The redhead wished Courfeyrac didn't feel the need to do it; they hadn't had a chance to sort things out between them yet, and it'd become an urgent matter. Courfeyrac agreed at the end and directed his attention back to Grantaire.

"Okay, man," he told him, bending over to give him a quick hug. "It's all forgotten." Grantaire patted Courf's back slightly and let him go with a smile.

"I'll walk him to the door," Jehan offered, knowing the drummer didn't need it, and hoping he'd catch on his real intentions. It seemed like it, since Courf waited until they were next to each other to keep walking.

Once outside of the room, Courfeyrac turned to face him. "I know you want to talk," he sputtered. "But not now," he added a little louder. "He needs you. Go back to him, everything's cool between us."

"But that's the thing, though," Jehan pointed out as he reached to take Courf's hand in his own. "I'm not okay with this... weird tension between us. I owe you a real apology and I want to do it right."

Courfeyrac caressed the back of Jehan's hand with his thumb. "Too many people are apologizing to me tonight. I'm not sure I like that."

"You sound like you're not used to it, Jehan tried to joke but the expression on Colurf's face told another story.

"Not about something like this, no," the drummer confessed, shrugging. "It's usually the other way around."

"... Sorry."

"It's okay. We'll talk about that some other time, okay?" Courfeyrac repeated. "Go back in there. I'll be here when you're ready.

That said, Courf stroke Jehan's arm fondly and walked down the aisle to meet with the rest of the group. Jehan's eyes crossed with Enjolras' and the blond mouthed a sincere 'Thank you" across the hallway before following the others outside the hospital. Jehan took a deep breath and went back inside the room.

Grantaire had his eyes closed and Jehan thought he was asleep. He approached him in silence and grabbed a chair. He placed it next to the bed and sat down, but Grantaire was already opening his eyes and smiling at him. "Hey," he mumbled. "Everything okay?"

"Not yet, but they'll be. Hopefully."

Grantaire patted the spot next to him on the bed and Jehan climbed up without second thoughts. He shifted on the mattress until his head was resting comfortably on Grantaire's good shoulder; a callous hand found its way to Jehan's copper hair when Grantaire dared to run his fingers through the soft strands, untangling the knots and caressing his scalp. It was so intimate, like it used to be before all this mess, and Jehan felt like crying out of nowhere. He snuggled closer to Grantaire with the need of feeling his body against his.

"I've missed it," Grantaire murmured into Jehan's hair. "There's gonna be more of this in the future," the man announced, looking at Jehan's amber eyes when he lifted his head. "I promise," he assured, running his fingers down Jehan's cheek.

The redhead nodded, leaning into the touch of Grantaire's hand. It wasn't a verbal apology, but Jehan didn't need it; it was enough with this, and for a moment, he would allow himself to believe in Grantaire's words. He would pretend, just for a second, that it was possible, that he wasn't expendable, that he was important. He kissed the palm of Grantaire's hand and rested his head on his shoulder once again.

When Grantaire couldn't stand the silence any longer, he asked "What happened between you and Courf? Is he... You two are... dating or something?"

Jehan smiled. "No. We had an arrangement."

"And did you want to? Date, I mean."

Jehan took a moment to think his answer and shrugged. "I thought so. I'd gotten used to him and assumed that was the logical next step, you know? He'd always been honest with me, but... I just cared about how I felt and decided to ignore him. I don't know why I even said what I said. I was feeling lonely, I guess."

Grantaire nodded and held him closer. "He's an okay guy."

"Yeah."

Jehan didn't talk about how he'd always liked his relationship with Courfeyrac as it was, but he'd convinced himself that he needed more when it wasn't true. Because that was what everybody said, right? But what if they were wrong and what he and Courfeyrac had, whatever it was, was more than enough. Neither of them wanted the other to feel left out, and Jehan knew for a fact one of Courfeyrac's biggest fears was staying alone when all his friends went away to pursue love. Maybe they were exactly what the other needed. And if Courfeyrac agreed, Jehan was ready to try it again.

 

***

   
Walking inside the apartment after his visit to the hospital felt surreal to Grantaire.

It was like he hadn't been there in ages; the furniture, the curtains, everything looked familiar but, somehow, new and strange. He wouldn't say he had a life-changing experience or that he was looking at his present with different eyes now, but he supposed getting shot had that effect in people, whether they like it or not. He walked into the living room and inspected his surroundings more carefully, discovering little details he hadn't seen in the previous days: the armchair a little bit closer to the window, the old book that had the cover completely battered now fully restored, the couple of new figurines on Jehan's vast collection of hummingbirds on the shelf.

Grantaire could even identify a few items that, as far as he knew, didn't belong to neither of them, like the drumstick without its pair or the purple, or the short skirt lying on the back of the couch. It was like walking into a parallel dimension, like going back to his childhood home and expecting everything to remain the same way it was before he left, as if time had miraculously stopped just for him. But it wasn't really that weird, though; he'd been absent for months, both physically and emotionally. It was stupid to think Jehan's life had been in stand by all this time.

"Home, sweet home," Jehan said, closing the front door. "I should've really cleaned up this place…"

"I wouldn't have recognized it, then," he joked, feeling slightly cheerful.

"Har, har." Jehan squeezed his hand affectionately as he walked next to him on his way to the kitchen. "I'll bring you some water for the pills. Make yourself more comfortable."

Grantaire nodded, but instead directed his steps towards his room. Once there, he opened the curtains and let some fresh air to enter the room. Under the bright light of the day, it was impossible to ignore the mess: the bedsheets had been thrown carelessly onto the floor in a tangled pile, clothes and other things were poking out through the closet doors, and there were bottles of booze all over the place. He grimaced and made a point to avoid the half-empty bottle over the night side table when he noticed a weak blink of light coming from the bedsheets. He dug around the mass of fabric until he found the source: his cellphone, glowing with the notification of a new voicemail.

"Grantaire?" Jehan called from the door. "I ordered some food and 'Chetta and the guys asked if it it's okay they came to see you."

Grantaire glanced back to his cellphone and threw it onto the mattress. "Sure," he said simply, walking out of the room.

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta knocked at their door barely 15 minutes later, but when Jehan had said he'd ordered food, he somehow had forgotten to mention he'd ask Éponine and Bahorel to buy it and bring it over. They showed up at their door not long after their friends arrived, holding what was probably more food that any of them could really eat, and sporting bright smiles that made them look a lot younger despite their tired eyes. They sat on the living room, just talking and joking for a long time. Bossuet and Bahorel served the food in big trays they then arranged in the middle of their circle and they drank soda, since they all agreed Grantaire shouldn't be anywhere close to alcohol right now; they were having fun like little kids.

They used the afternoon to update each other about their lives: Bahorel talked a little bit more about his job as a stripper just so Jehan could brag to Courf that he knew and the drummer didn't, and 'Chetta and her boyfriends told them about this children hospital they'd donated the baby stuff they'd bought and the visits they'd paid to the kinds there. But the story that was maybe more surprising of all the ones that'd been shared that day, was Éponine's.

"So you have a sister," Grantaire said, lowering the hand still holding a plastic fork. "And you're saying that little boy is your brother? Holy shit."

"Yeah... I know it sounds unbelievable but… Well, that's what it is."

Grantaire didn't add anything else during the conversation and just listened to them talking; he needed this, he needed his friends and to clear his mind. He needed to remember they hadn't given up to him.

By nighttime, they decided to stay in the living room and sleep there in a big, human pile ("Like the old times!" Bossuet had proposed rather cheerfully). Grantaire and Jehan walked to their respective rooms to bring some blankets and pillows, and it was there where Grantaire remembered the voicemail still waiting in his cellphone. He left the blankets he'd been trying to carry on his good shoulder back onto the floor, and took the device, tapping his fingers over it. He pressed a few buttons and held the phone to his ear. His breath hitched at hearing Enjolras' voice speaking to him:

 

> _'Aire- Grantaire. Hi. Uh… I called to see how you were after... the thing. But I guess you're bussy. Uhm, I went to that big cafeteria downtown the other day, you know? The one you hate because they haven't fixed the rockolla yet? There was this group of teenagers sitting behind me and you know what they said? They said Carpe Diem was a pathetic copy of Sassafras Roots, but that you guys were better… And I… I agree with them. They were right, you're… you're… better. I shouldn't be telling you this on the phone, but… Anyway, I was thinking, since I agree with them this time, which means I owe you five bucks for the jar, right? And… well, maybe I could drop by your place, if you want, and… pay my debt? Just let me- let me know when you have time. I'd really like to talk to you. Well, that's all, see ya._

 

Grantaire stood there for a minute, frozen in the middle of the room with the phone still pressed against his ear. It wasn't of Enjolras to hesitate so much and Grantaire hated himself for thinking that was immensely adorable. He stretched his fingers and listened to the message again for good measure; he had to sit down for how much his legs were trembling. The mechanic voice on the phone informed him the voicemail had been recorded right after Grantaire had been discharged from the hospital. Hell, Enjolras had probably called while he was still walking through the exit door and he hadn't had his phone at hand to answer.

And he wanted to see him. That was a bad idea. What if they just made it worse?

"Hey, we still need a few blankets for the fort out there," Éponine's voice coming from the door interrupted his thoughts. Grantaire jumped at the sudden sound and almost dropped the phone onto the bedsheets pooled around his feet. "Uh, sorry," she apologized, sounding concerned. "Everything okay? What happened?"

"Nothing, he hurried to assure, tucking the phone into his pocket. He bent over to pick up the blankets and tried to smile. "Let's go, they're probably freezing out there."

Éponine nodded, not very convinced, and led the way, taking the blankets from Grantaire's arms. "You're gonna hurt yourself."

Grantaire rolled his eyes and followed her to the living room. Their friends were rearranging the couches to make everything more comfortable. Musichetta insisted he didn't strain his shoulder and sent him to sit down on the armchair. He obeyed, if only because he had a decision to make concerning Enjolras. He wouldn't bear seeing him go through the door once he realized it was a mistake, so that left him with only one option: he would go to see him instead and hope he didn't go out of there too humiliated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know shit about medical and legal procedures. I do not recommend taking anything I said as a fact.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras' face when he opened the door of his apartment would be forever ingrained in Grantaire's memory.
> 
> The blond's astonished expression at seeing his former boyfriend standing in the hallway was enough to make Grantaire question every decision he'd made up to that point. He felt inadequate with his torn jeans, the injured arm resting inside the sling, and the three-day stubble darkening his chin.The piercing blue eyes were focused on his face, though; he had no idea of what he was thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, I hope you like it :)

Gavroche walked out of the room Éponone had assigned him in her house and went straight to the kitchen, grateful to have the whole place all for himself; Éponine had left right after he'd come back from his walk with Mojo, and Combeferre was somewhere out there with his little boy band. While he appreciated the things they did for him, he was somehow sick of having them breathing at the back of his neck at every move.

He missed the freedom of the streets and that was probably a weird thought but he felt safer there. It was the world he knew, where he'd grown up , and as dangerous as it may seemed to others, he knew perfectly well how to take care of himself. The fancy house he was currently at, on the other hand, was the most indefinite place he'd ever been in his life. Who knew for how long Éponine's altruistic heart would cope with him? Sooner or later she'd get tired of him and he'd be back at sleeping in one of Tholomyès' warehouses with the rats. It was better not to get used to it.

He moved through the hallway, scratching his belly unashamedly, and stopped in front of the fridge. He heard voices coming from the living room and his eyes diverted to the clock hanging on the far wall. It was noon: Éponine and Combeferre had come back. He grunted softly and directed his steps to the living room where the couple was talking in hushed voices, with their heads barely a breath away from each other. "Sup?" he greeted them, containing a snort when they separated from each other with a jolt.

"Hey, kiddo," Combeferre chimed in when Éponine failed to utter a word. The man's eyes traveled from her unusually nervous girlfriend to the kid standing in the hallway, waiting for any of them to do something. If Gavroche had known what they were expecting of him, he would gladly make the first move. He didn't know, though, so instead there, cocking his head. "Why don't you go grab something to eat and then come sit with us at the table?" Combeferre added, breaking the awkward silence. "There's something we'd like to discuss with you."

 _Oh, well_ , Gavroche thought. That was it, they were going to send him back to the street. At least they were kind enough to let him eat first; he wondered if they'd let him take some food for later. He nodded and retreated to the kitchen, faking a nonchalant façade, determined to not let them see any sign of weakness.

He made himself a sandwich and went back to the dining room where Éponine and Combeferre were already waiting for him at the table. Comparing to Éponine, the man looked remarkably calmed and composed; Gavroche thought maybe he had more experience at ditching people. "Come here, Gav", Éponine called while Combeferre stud up, announcing he was going to make him cocoa. They were making such a fuss for something so stupid. "There's, uh, there's something I need to ask you."

"Okay. You can  _jist_ kick me out,  _ya_ know?" the kid mentioned casually. "I mean, it's not a big deal,  _righ'_? No harsh feelings and all that shit."

Éponine made a face, probably about to comment on his language, but instead, she asked, "Kick you out?" She glanced briefly at Combeferre, who was placing a hot mug in front of Gavroche, and then looked back at the kid. "We're not kicking you out," she assured. "Quite the contrary." At Gavroche's incredulous expression, she suppressed a laugh. "No," Éponine continued. "I, well, Combeferre and I want to invite you to be part of our family. Permanently."

A moment of silence took over the room while both adults waited for Gavroche to speak. Gavroche didn't want to get his hopes up too soon, so he pronounced what he considered it was the most appropriate response: "Is this a joke?"

"Of course not," Combeferre intervened, sitting down between them. "We'd be honored to take care of you. If you allow us to."

"I'd like to legally adopt you, Gav."

"Yeah, but why?" the kid insisted. It didn't make sense, unless... "What? You can have kids of your own?" He tried to say it without malice, but wasn't entirely sure he'd succeeded. Even so, the expression on Éponine's face didn't change in the slightest; she actually looked like she was fighting back a smile.

"This is... not really about that, no," she clarified. "We'd love to give you a suitable home. Now, if the problem is you don't want to live with us, good news is you don't have to. We only ask you to give us the chance and find someone you feel completely safe and comfortable with. The least we want is to see you back on the streets."

Gavroche chewed on his lip, afraid of unleash their anger if he told the truth. He swallowed the knot in his throat and mumbled, "You're not the problem. I mean, not... You're weird, that's all."

The two grownups exchanged a look before re-focusing their attention on Gavroche. "Weird?" Combeferre inquired. "In what way? If you don't mind me asking."

"You're too nice, okay?!" Gavroche finally confessed, his hands shaking with an indescribable emotion. "All of you, even your crazy friends. No one has ever... And you two never fight! That  _idn't_  normal."

The truth was Gavroche was scared.

After a whole life living in the gutter, he'd learned to associate kindness with danger; no one ever was that nice to the orphans unless they wanted to trick them into some messed up shit. He'd avoided his fair share of nasty creepers thanks to what he called a sixth sense that detected trouble at first sight. He wasn't even sure why he'd decided to trust Éponine in the first place, but he'd done and, so far, it all had resulted fine. It could be only a trap to hook him up and leave him without a way out; it was a matter of how much he really trusted them.

Éponine moved her chair closer to him, but refrain from touching him, which Gavroche was thankful for. She folded her arms over the plain surface of the table and said, "I'm not gonna denied we're a weird gang. You're right about that. But we're nice because we care about you as much as we care about each other. We love you to have you around and, if you decide to stay, you'll have a whole new family of weirdos willing to do everything for you."

"We only want to give what every child deserves," Combeferre chimed in. "You could go to school, have friends, and maybe your own pet to take out for a walk. I bet Bahorel and Mojo would gladly tag along."

"So here's a deal. I'm really good at making deals, so hear me out," Éponine offered cheerfully. "Give us three months. Three months in which you can get to know us, all of us, a bit better. Then you can decide if you want to stay with us or not. How does that sound?"

Gavroche couldn't help but smile at that. It did sound nice. To have a family and all that. And three months wasn't that long, anyway.

He stretched his arm to shake Éponine's hand. "Okay. You've got a deal."

 

***

 

"So... You wanted to talk."

"Yeah."

"Listen, it's really not necessary. We're cool-"

"It is for me," the young man interrupted. "Just listen, okay? You don't have to decide anything right now."

Courfeyrac nodded and prompted Jehan to sit down on the couch.

He knew it wasn't a way out of that conversation once he saw Jehan standing at his doorstep; the resolution on his young face was evident and the forming scar on his cheek only highlighted it. That made Courfeyrac incredibly uncomfortable; he'd had terrible experiences when it came to heart-to-heart talks concerning his lack of romantic interest. He had divided opinions about it: a part of himself felt flattered when someone declared themselves attracted to him "more than sexually", as phrased by guy he'd hooked up with a couple of years ago; the other utterly hated it.

Since then, he'd avoided to sleep with the same person more than once, and that'd been problematic; to put it somehow, he hadn't kept many friends after he'd confessed he wasn't really interested in taking thing "further", whatever that meant. That was why he'd grew so attached to Enjolras, Combeferre, and the rest of the band; they genuinely appreciated him as a friend, and respected his decisions without too much judgement; as much as Courfeyrac joked about wanting to fuck all of them, he'd never really tried it, fearing he could ruin their friendship. He was okay with the occasional one-night stand, but a part of him -the one that hated it when they wanted to date him- desired a deep connection with someone else. The idea that that could only be achieved by romance kept nagging at him, and he couldn't help but to feel disappointed about it.

Then there was Jehan, who seemed to understand Courfeyrac better than no one before and had willingly offered to share a bed. The drummer should have guessed it wouldn't be that easy and, if he wanted to salvage their relationship, he should start by listening to what he had to say.

"Okay," he said, taking a place across from Jehan. "Hit me, baby."

Jehan smiled at the joke and Courfeyrac let him talk.

Jehan told him about how he'd tried to compensate Grantaire's sudden abandonment by sleeping with Courf; he called it his first mistake, but because he regretted having done it, but because the reasoning behind it was wrong. Jehan had been under so much stress when Claquesous showed up that had been unable to control his own emotions and had relied on Courfeyrac completely.

"I mistook your love for something entirely different and... I'm not gonna lie to you or myself but, at some point, I did want you to fall in love with me, despite the fact you'd said you weren't that kind of guy," he confessed and Courfeyrac had to look away.

There it was, his unforgivable defect. No mattered how much he invested himself in a relationship, no mattered how much he loved, it was never what they wanted, it was never enough. He loved Jehan, that was the right word, he loved him; he'd thought many times about asking him to be his boyfriend, but had always discarded the idea immediately after because it didn't quite encompassed everything he felt for the redhead. The word didn't make it justice.

Now he thought he should have done it to keep everyone happy; how bad could it really be?

"But I was wrong, you know?" Jehan continued, taking Courfeyrac by surprise. "I not only stepped on you and what you wanted, but I also trick myself into believing I needed that to be fine. I'd never really wanted that from you."

"You didn't?" he asked, stumbling over his own words.

"No," Jehan confessed, blushing. "Now I only want to get back what we had, if I didn't fuck it up forever."

Courfeyrac could barely stopped himself from agreeing right away and tried to, for once, not to think only in himself. "We're friends and that hasn't changed but... You should be with someone that loves you the way you want, Jehan. I mean, you deserve the whole fairy tale and I can't give you that," he shrugged, resigned. "Go out and look for Prince Charming. I'll be here and I'll be fine, I promise."

"How about a middle ground, then?" Jehan offered after considering it for a moment. "Well, not exactly, but... Maybe we could find a way to make this work? We didn't have, like, a conventional friendship to begin with, right?"

Courfeyrac smiled, touched by Jehan's persistance. He was really trying, Courf couldn't believe that was happening. "There are a few things I don't feel comfortable doing," he ventured. "I'm okay with the cuddling and all kinds of affectionate touches. And I'm more than okay with the sex," he added with a lewd smile, before turning serious again. "But... Just never call me your boyfriend, please? There's something about that word I just can't... Ugh."

"We'll figure that out," Jehan agreed with an open laugh. "Thank you."

"Oh, c'mere." He enfolded him in his arms and kissed his cheek. "I was going to ask you to move in here. You'd like that?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Giving the chance to spend the rest of my life with one of my best friends? Dude, who would say no to that?"

Courfeyrac almost wanted to point out that a lot of people would indeed say no in the context they were talking about. People loved the idea of calling their romantic partner a "best friend", but actually spend their life with someone that wasn't in love with them? Yeah, no way. Courf had been declined before. But he had no intentions of ruining the moment so he just smiled, ruffling Jehan's hair with a hand.

Who knew how long would it last? Maybe Jehan would change his mind and decide he did want a boyfriend after all. Or maybe Courf would rather to go back at being alone, as he'd been his whole life. They'll have to figure it out, but for now, Courf was really excited about the whole thing. He hadn't had a roommate since he was in college! He couldn't to try this.

 

***

 

Enjolras' face when he opened the door of his apartment would be forever ingrained in Grantaire's memory.

The blond's astonished expression at seeing his former boyfriend standing in the hallway was enough to make Grantaire question every decision he'd made up to that point. He felt inadequate with his torn jeans, the injured arm resting inside the sling, and the three-day stubble darkening his chin.The piercing blue eyes were focused on his face, though; he had no idea of what he was thinking.

"Grantaire, what... What are you doing here?"

Yeah, Grantaire had been expecting that reaction, though he'd imagined it a bit more reproachful and less nervous, but who was he to complain. He lifted his cellphone to eyes-level and pointed at it with his head. "You called, remember?"

"Oh," the blond whispered. "Yeah, uh, come on in."

He stepped aside and Grantaire grazed his shoulder when he walked next to him through the door; although it had been entirely by accident, that didn't stopped the butterflies in his stomach of starting a riot, one that only became stronger after he realized it was the first time he was alone with Enjolras since he'd come to pick up his stuff the night he'd decided to walk away for good.

He took in his surroundings until he felt something was off in the atmosphere. Grantaire turned around and discovered Enjolras looking intently at his arm in the sling. He waited for the blond to formulate the question he was sure all of them wanted to know the answer to, one he'd been expecting since they went to visit him at the hospital and, so far, no one had dared to ask: Why did you do it? He was convinced that, by now, they all had been informed of his behavior inside the bar, that it had been him the one practically begging to get shot; he wasn't sure if he had an answer to that, but was tired of waiting to be approached about it.

Enjolras, however, did not question him. His eyes moved from Grantaire's arm to his face and back to his arm, before diverting them completely. Grantaire pursed his lips and decided to take the matter in his own hands.

"I don't know why I did it, okay?" he spat, harsher than he'd intended to. He took a deep breath, willing the damn butterflies to just calm down a little, and continued. "I only... There was _so much_ noise, and I. I don't know, I-"

"I wasn't going to ask," Enjolras interrupted, and by the way he looked resigned rather than surprised, Grantaire knew he was telling the truth. "I was worried your arm hurt. You shouldn't been here, 'Aire. I would've come to you if you'd let me."

Grantaire swallowed hard, feeling suddenly nervous -plus a bit embarrassed of how easily Enjolras moved him. "Arm's fine," he stuttered. "Covered in nasty stitches, though." The blond frowned, probably taken aback by that. "But it doesn't hurt. Or not that bad, at least."

"Good to hear. So. You're here..." Grantaire nodded slowly. "There's something I'd like to show you, come with me?"

Enjolras' smile was so genuine Grantaire couldn't do anything else but to follow him. The blond guided him to the main bedroom - _his_ bedroom-, so familiar to Grantaire's eyes, and invited him to take a seat on the bed. Grantaire shook his head, feeling he couldn't bear the closeness at the moment, and decided to remain standing by the door.

"Okay," Enjolras granted, going to the bedside table and looking for something. He opened and closed the first drawer and came back to the end of the bed with a bunch of yellow papers. He then took an acoustic guitar that'd been resting against the wall -one that Grantaire recognized as his own-, and sat down with it at the end of the mattress, placing the papers in front of his bent leg. Before he started whatever he was getting ready to do, he directed at Grantaire once more.

"You were right, you know?" he began. "I haven't been fair to you." His fingers caressed the neck of the guitar in his hands, as if to help his mind to find the right words. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... I don’t regret having gone with Armando, it was a circle I needed to close. What I regret, though, is having taken for granted you were okay with what I was doing. I should've talked to you, until you were sure the only person I want to be with is you.

"I know all this got out of my hands, I could've handled it better, so I'm not really asking for forgiveness here. That wouldn't be fair, but..." Enjolras interrupted himself and took a long breath. He'd been making an effort to look at Grantaire's eyes during his discourse, but at that point, it was clear it'd become harder than the blond had anticipated. Grantaire grabbed the desk chair and sat down in a way to show Enjolras he wasn't going anywhere, at least not for now. It seemed to work, since the blond ventured to finish his sentence. "But there's something I've meant to tell you for so long, but couldn't find the perfect way to do it. Until now. And, if you let me, I'd like to show you. If that's okay with you."

Grantaire nodded, feeling himself getting stiff on the chair. Enjolras shifted on the bed until he was comfortable, facing Grantaire as best as he could, and began playing the guitar.

 

 _Words get trapped in my mind,_  
_sorry if I don't take the time_  
_to feel the way I do._  
_'Ca use from the first day_  
_you came into my life,_  
_the time ticks around you._

 _But then I need your voice_  
_as the key to unlock all the_  
_love that’s trapped in me._  
_So tell me when it's time_  
_to say "I love you"._

 _All I want is for you to understand_  
_that when I take your hand_  
_it's 'cause I want to._  
_We are all born in a world of doubt,_  
_but there's no doubt,_  
_I figured out,_  
_I love you._

 

After Enjolras sang that last part of the song, Grantaire stood up abruptly of the chair and went to lay against the wall, away from Enjolras. The blond interrupted himself again, this time with surprise written all over his face, and made a move to approach Grantaire. He jolted, like a caged animal, and opened the door, not sure if he should run away or not.

"What?" Enjolras asked, slightly panicked. "What's wrong?"

"I can't do this now."

That wasn't the plan, that wasn't supposed to happen. It was easier to think Enjolras hated him; he knew how to handled that, even when it hurt. But if what he'd written in the song was true, if he did love him... Grantaire could never live up to that. How could he? He was a fucked up loser. He denied with his head, shaking his hands in front of him to keep Enjolras at bay, and aimed for the exit again; the blond stopped him before he could escape.

"Wait," Enjolras called, holding the door with one of his hands. "I'm sorry," he said. "I went too far, I know, I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't've said that."

"Why now?" Grantaire demanded, jerking his arm away when Enjolras tried to take it gently. He hissed when the movement strained his injured shoulder, but he didn't stop until he was at a reasonable distance. Enjolras positioned himself against the door to block it and didn't eben flinchedwhen Grantaire banged his open hand on the wood avobe his shoulder, before slide it down Enjolras own arm. The blond remained silent, letting Grantaire gather up his thoughts, and only wrapped his long fingers around Grantaire's wrist, not in an attempt to push him off of him, but rather holding him in place. Grantaire lowered his head between their joined arms and whispered to his chest, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because... Because I've wanted to for so long," Enjolras confessed, holding Grantaire harder. "Because I'm proud of you, of being with you. The band's my priority," he added in a rush. "But what is it worth for if I can share the joy with you? I know I'm a loser that never took the time to say what was really on my mind, and instead just hide away. I also know it's nowhere near to be enough," he added and Grantaire felt him shrugging awkwardly. "It probably sucks, but... I mean it. If it is any consolation."

Grantaire let go of him and retreated a few steps. Who was he kidding? This was exactly what he wanted. He'd felt in love with the musician way before he fell in love with the man behind him; he would never ask him to change that because it'd been exactly that passion what had enamored him.

"We're fucking idiots, you know that?" Grantaire declared. "I toss and turn all night, thinking of your ways of affection, but to find that it's not different at all," he decided shrugging. "That's when I say 'what the hey, right?"

Truth was, at that point, he'd take whatever Enjolras could give that came his way.

He shortened the distance between them and, cupping Enjolras' face with his good hand, he brought him down for a kiss. It was just a brush of lips at first, and Grantaire got carried away by the sensation of having Enjolras this close again. He kissed him more firmly for a few seconds and then wrapped him in his arm. Enjolras reacted immediately to every touch, following him with that ease of the years together, and using his hands to bring him closer to him; Grantaire's hand poking out of the sling was trapped between their bodies and he could feel their breaths coming out in perfect synchronization.

Enjolras nuzzled behind his ear and said, "This turned out better than I'd expected," then laid a series of deep kisses over his parted lips. When they broke apart to let their lungs catch their breaths again, Grantaire rested his forehead against Enjolras', not daring to open his eyes just yet.

"Hey," he broke the comfortable silence. "Would you do me in favor?"

"Anything," Enjolras said without hesitation, finally opening his eyes to look at Grantaire.

"Oh, good. Then would you include that song on your next album?"

"No."

"Come on!"

"No!"

"Enjolras-"

"I said no."

"Even if I ask nicely?"

The blond stopped to think about it for a moment and Grantaire could practically savor the victory. He didn't really thought Enjolras would include that song, a _love song_ , in one of his albums but it was funny seeing him trying to reject his request as nicely as he could.

"Only if you do something for me in exchange," Enjolras offered in return.

"Fine, what?"

"Move in with me."

Grantaire's lips stretched in a warm, genuine smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was originally like three chapters long and its only purpose was to make you listen to [this song](http://anastasiapullingteeth.tumblr.com/post/154684327625/fireinyourheartisout-when-its-time) [ _OTP feels_ ].


	17. Epilogue

` _Oct. 2014_`

` **American Eulogy: A Voice Rising For A Change** `

` _by I. Javert_ `

  
_**W** hat is what defines greatness? Is it the attachment to tradition and ancient precepts? Purists will say that yes. Or is the bet for something new, something never seen before? Some fanatics will agree on this. I, personally, believe is a bit of both. The bravery required to take risks, to challenge ourselves to affront unexplored territory, as well as a strong conviction and enough conscience to accept our own mistakes and recognize when it is time for a change; those are qualities that a very few have within them. And _Carpe Diem _has proven they have plenty of them in their most recent album,_ American Eulogy _._

_The Californians have made their own path in the music industry as a political band; that has never been questioned. Their lyrics directed at the working class, at the time they, vehemently, attack the government and the companies that move the strings of this country, have been present in the radio stations for about fifteen years. However, after the disaster that almost became their sixth album, released in 2012, this turned into a death sentence more than a statement of their ideology._

_With the posterior success of the national tour they made months after the release of the album, the band decided then to invest their time and money in the opening of their own, independent label. The five members of the former punk band, along with their manager, Jean Valjean, became important business men. They entered the claws of the system and became part of it. Had_ Carpe Diem _given up on their self-proclaimed resistance? In any case, the label gave them perspective; there was still a warning sign hanging upon their heads, but it was not until this past September that the band came back to do what they are best at: the music._

American Eulogy _, their seventh studio album, is a record concept assembled as a rock opera, a musical genre popularized in the late 60's. In this album, like many others we have seen before, a story line is shown over multiple parts and songs, brought together by the different harmonies and lyrics composing the album. In this particular scenario,_ Carpe Diem _makes a fierce instance about the state of our country, with a refreshing twist that I am sure no one expects: America is no longer an ethereal concept, as we were used to see in their previous albums. Instead, it is transferred to the people, the individual that, at the same time, reflects the sentiment of a group, and becomes a whole with those that surround them. We experience America -its sorrows, its doubts, its injustices- through Enjolras' own eyes._

 _For_ Carpe Diem,  _as a band, this represents two important processes._ _For starters, it means evolution. They went from being the false prophets of a generation to be part of those they sang and wrote about. They became spokesmen, more than distant narrators, more than detached entities. Secondly, it means [self] revolution. Enjolras brought down the walls he had built around himself and his band to finally show up his true self. He opened up to his fans, he opened up to the world, and presented a man full of his own weaknesses and virtues; he became one with the people._

 _I am not a man that goes for sentiments. I believe that there is a right way to do everything, certain rules one must to follow in order to achieve a master piece; this album is far from being that, but it possess something we had not seen in_ Carpe Diem _since_ Holiday _in 2004: a soul. This is an album where the band put their hearts into, where each song -from_ Song Of The Century  _to_ See the Light _\- invites us to be our own individuals. As I said above, we see an Enjolras we have never been introduced to before, one that has the courage to sing about his family; one that, for the first time in the history of_ Carpe Diem _, has written a love song._

_I am positive that a large number of fans will hate on this album. Not only the inspiration and the concept have changed, but also did it the style itself. We are talking about a cleaner sound, recorded entirely in the four walls of a studio in Los Angeles, where every instrument is perceived clearly by our ears. The band itself made an outstanding job performing the intricate arrangements that, undoubtedly, have Valjean’s hand behind, leading to one of the most ambitious albums in terms of sound and concept of the decade._

_Is this the doom of the prodigal sons of the Bay Area? On the contrary. I believe that, if they work it properly, this is a good start to what promises to be the resurgence of those who were once called the bad boys of the punk scene; the sound is different, barely any trace of punk left in their music, but it places them entirely as a rock band. The change was surely prompted by the association they made with_ Sassafras Roots _in the past years, as we see more specifically in the track number four,_ The Forgotten _, whose musical arrangement is credited to Jean Prouvaire._

 _But this is not the only change we perceive in_ American Eulogy _; they are also different. The five members of the band seem more relaxed -with loosened ties and rolled up sleeves, showing that they have grown up with their most loyal fans-, offering a material exponentially more mature and serious that any of their previous albums, leaving behind that childish naïveté. It is the "punkiest" they have ever been in their history, this moment in which they defy and redefine themselves and their music; with this record, they ask us to think for ourselves, to rise a discussion._

 _Someone once said that there was no future in the pure, and, until recently, I could declare myself a firm believer of the opposite. But what_ Carpe Diem _has thought me in these years is that there is always a risk to take if you want to excel in what you do, there is always a challenge to accept. I do not consider myself a fan of the band, but I am certainly a fan of this album; only time will say if my judgement was correct._

 _What defines greatness is, at the end, honesty. Every song in_ American Eulogy _is a different part of their lives and, to_ Carpe Diem _, honesty has become a main thing. They do not hold back, never censure themselves; at all cost, they tell the truth._

_~_

Grantaire took a deep breath after reading the last sentence and put the magazine down. He glanced at Enjolras with a half grin and cocked eyebrows, waiting for him to say something. The blonde had his eyes fixed on the floor, hands joined together carelessly over his thighs, and lips curved in a faint smile. He couldn’t believe it; it was the exact opposite of what he’d expected.

After the incident that almost destroyed what this thing between him and Grantaire, he'd decided to change and rewrite the new album almost entirely. His band mates supported him, as they always did, especially after Grantaire convinced him to perform _his_ song for them; Valjean almost had a heart attack when he show up at his office announcing he wanted start over, but didn't protest any further when he listened to the first demos and immediately worked along with them to build the perfect mix.

There were songs he only liked the beginning part of them, so he started to put them all together and that'd been how the rock opera was born. After that, they worked nonstop for almost five months, rewriting lyrics, constructing a concept, recording and mixing songs just in time to release the first single on the date they had previously planned. It had been hard for everybody, juggling their personal lives, their relationships, and the bands.

Enjolras and the rest of the guys spent all those five month in Los Angeles, traveling every other week back to Oakland to see their families. Enjolras and Grantaire’s relationship had been a little shaky since they got together in 2012 and Enjolras thought it was a good thing it’d finally snapped the moment it did, when they could talk thing off and fix what was wrong between them; otherwise, it wouldn’t have survived the making of this album.

About the same time, Grantaire decided to go into treatment for his alcoholism and anxiety, feeling he ought to be fine with himself if he wanted to do right by Enjolras. Enjolras, on his part, felt guilty for not being there for him when he needed him, they barely had time to see each other, but Jehan had been incredibly supportive during those months. He was still working on it, but was considerably more stable now.

Enjolras was completely terrified when _American Eulogy_  finally came out and he would’ve probably lost it if it hadn't been for Grantaire; that album was different from anything they’d done before and, for the first time, he was not only exposing another people, he was exposing himself too. Javert was right, everything came from some emotional place he'd experienced in his life, and he feared what the fans would think of it; if they didn't like it, that meant he’d made the same mistake of two years ago. At the same time, though, he couldn’t care less; it was something he needed to do and that was enough.

They had been going down since _99 Revolutions_ and it’d probably be their end, hadn’t they discarded the material they had at the beginning of the year. This new album meant everything to them; they’d worked their asses on it and it was proving to be worth it. It'd been the best time of his life, making that record, surrounded by friends. Enjolras didn’t think he could do something as good as that again, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

He felt Grantaire’s eyes upon him so he turned his head to face him, making vague gestures with his hands. “I… I don’t know what else to say. I’m still surprised, to be honest.”

“I know, right! I can’t believe he wrote that!”

“Well, considering this is the fifth time you’ve read it…”

“Oh, come on, Enj” Grantaire said, tossing the magazine away and turning his body towards the blond as he rested a hand on the backrest. “This is amazing! You literally tamed that old man. He loves you and the guys.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t love us. He said this was ‘far from being a master piece’”, he said, making the air quotes with his fingers.

“But you’ll get there, I’m sure. You know what’s my theory? I think he’s always loved you, but felt betrayed when you accepted touring with us.”

“Of all the things you could come up with, that’s the most unlikely to be truth.”

Grantaire laughed and bent over to kiss his neck, stroking with his fingers Enjolras' right forearm, where he had now his first-ever tattoo: a sound wave of him saying Grantaire's name. He'd given the design to Grantaire himself, without telling him what it was, and asked him to tattoo it on his arm. The older man had been incredibly surprised and it'd required a lot of convincing before he'd accepted to take the tattoo machine again. Once he finished, Enjolras confessed the meaning behind the wave; he'd worn his right sleeve rolled up ever since.

Enjolras leaned into the touch and let Grantaire nip at the lobe of his ear; he couldn’t suppress a smile when he finally joined their lips. The blond brought a hand up to the nape of Grantaire’s head, and deepened the kiss with a thrust of his tongue. Grantaire shifted on the couch until he was practically sitting on top of Enjolras, the hand that wasn’t busy on the blond hair, traveling dangerously along Enjolras’ thigh until it reached his hip. When things were heating up, they heard steps coming from the small hallway, followed by a high pitch squeal that forced them to break apart.

“This is now a restricted area” Courfeyrac informed, opening his arms wide to stop the approaching group before they entered the room. “We'll need to go back in about," he looked over his shoulder to assess their status, "five minutes," he declared with a mocking smirk.

Grantaire narrowed his eyes before kissing Enjolras one last time, loudly. Courfeyrac cringed.

“Ugh, you guys are disgusting.”

“Okay, people,” Éponine said pushing Courfeyrac out of the way and walking through the door with Valjean. She stopped mid-sentence when Gavroche appeared behind her, running towards Grantaire where he sat between him and Enjolras; Grantaire ruffled his hair affectionately and the boy batted the hand away. Behind him, the rest of the group followed suit, taking a seat on whatever surface was available.

“I’ve got Armando on the phone,” said Combeferre, standing in the narrow hallway. “He said he’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Oh, great. Thanks. So!” Éponine shouted to draw the attention of everybody in the room. “First stop: Paris, France.”

 

 

 

  **T H E   E N D**

 

 

 

****

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that's all from me. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story from beginning to end. I started it in 2014 and God knows it's been a long, bumpy ride, but I've enjoyed every single part of it. I hope you have, too.
> 
> Thanks for the kuddos, comments, and [fanart](http://anastasiawritingfics.tumblr.com/tagged/S%3A+SC). Thanks for the patience and love, and for bearing with my multiple writer's blocks.
> 
> And if you ever wondered how many songs are mentioned throughout the series, [here](http://anastasiawritingfics.tumblr.com/scsongs)'s a complete list. Just in case.
> 
> Finally, [here](http://anastasiapullingteeth.tumblr.com/post/154806981120/billielovesadrienneforever-when-its-time-from)'s a video I'd like to show you and, please, picture a certain blond when you watch it, okay?
> 
> I hope I'd turned some of you into Green Day fans, at least a tiny bit.
> 
> Thanks for everything!
> 
>  
> 
> **Rage & Love**  
>  **\- Caro**


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